THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 


UNIV.  OF  CALIF.  LIBRARY.  LOS  ANGELES 


"  'Stop!    He's- my  Clover! '  she  cried.     'Don't  shoot! ' 


THE  SECOND 
LATCHKEY 

BY  C.  N.  &  A.  M.  WILLIAMSON 


AUTHOR  OF 

'The  Lion's  Mouse"  "Everyman's  Land" 
"Secret  History,"  etc. 


WITH  FRONTISPIECE  BY 

RUDOLPH  TANDLER 


A.  L.  BURT  COMPANY 

Publishers  New  York 

Published   by    arrangement   with   Doubledaj,    Page   &    Company 


COPYRIGHT,  1920,  BY 

C.  N  &  A.  M.  WILLIAMSON 

ALL  BIGHTS  RESERVED,  INCLUDING  THAT  OF  TRANSLATION 
INTO  FOREIGN  LANGUAGES,  INCLUDING  THE  SCANDINAVIAN 

PRINTED  AT  OABDEN  CITT,  K.  T.,  U.  8.  A. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  A  WHITE  ROSE             3 

II  SMITHS  AND  SMITHS 15 

III.  WHY  SHE  CAME 31 

IV.  THE  GREAT  MOMENT  ...*,..  41 
V.  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 54 

VI.  THE  BEGINNING — OB  THE  END?  ...  67 

VII.  THE  COUNTESS  DE  SANTIAGO       ...  78 

VIII.  THE  BLUE  DIAMOND  RING     ....  89 

IX.  THE  THING  KNIGHT  WANTED      .     .     .  110 

X.  BEGINNING  OF  THE  SERIES     ....  123 

XI.  ANNESLEY  REMEMBERS 136 

XII.  THE  CRYSTAL 148 

XIII.  THE  SERIES  GOES  ON 161 

XIV.  THE  TEST 176 

XV.  NELSON  SMITH  AT  HOME 191 

XVI.  WHY  RUTHVEN  SMITH  WENT.      .     .     .  204 

XVII.  RUTHVEN  SMITH'S  EYEGLASSES    .     .     .  219 

XVIII.  THE  STAR  SAPPHIRE  228 


vi  CONTENTS 

CHAPTJEB  PAOe 

XIX.  THE  SECRET 239 

XX.  THE  PLAN 261 

XXI.  THE  DEVIL'S  ROSARY 273 

XXII.  DESTINY  AND  THE  WALDOS     ....  286 

XXIII.  THE  THIN  WALL 298 

XXIV.  THE  ANNIVERSARY 310 

XXV.  THE  ALLEGORY 323 

XXVI.  THE  THREE  WORDS  335 


THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 


CHAPTER  I 
A  WHITE  ROSE 

EVEN  when  Annesley  Grayle  turned  out  of  the 
Strand  toward  the  Savoy  she  was  uncertain  whether 
she  would  have  courage  to  walk  into  the  hotel. 
With  each  step  the  thing,  the  dreadful  thing,  that 
she  had  come  to  do,  loomed  blacker.  It  was  mon- 
strous, impossible,  like  opening  the  door  of  the  lions' 
cage  at  the  Zoo  and  stepping  inside. 

There  was  time  still  to  change  her  mind.  She  had 
only  to  turn  now  .  .  .  jump  into  an  omnibus 
.  .  .  jump  out  again  at  the  familiar  corner,  and 
everything  would  be  as  it  had  been.  Life  for  the 
next  five,  ten,  maybe  twenty  years,  would  be  what 
the  last  five  had  been. 

At  the  thought  of  the  Savoy  and  the  adventure 
waiting  there,  the  girl's  skin  had  tingled  and  grown 
hot,  as  if  a  wind  laden  with  grains  of  heated  sand  had 
blown  over  her.  But  at  the  thought  of  turning  back, 
of  going  "home" — oh,  misused  word! — a  leaden 
coldness  shut  her  spirit  into  a  tomb. 

She  had  walked  fast,  after  descending  at  Bedford 
Street  from  a  fierce  motor-bus  with  a  party  of  com- 
fortable people,  bound  for  the  Adelphi  Theatre. 
Never  before  had  she  been  in  a  motor-omnibus,  and 

3 


4  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

she  was  not  sure  whether  the  great  hurtling  thing 
would  deign  to  stop,  except  at  trysting-places  of  its 
own ;  so  it  had  seemed  wise  to  bundle  out  rather  than 
risk  a  snub  from  the  conductor,  who  looked  like 
pictures  of  the  Duke  of  Wellington. 

But  in  the  lighted  Strand  she  had  been  stared  at 
as  well  as  jostled:  a  girl  alone  at  eight  o'clock  on  a 
winter  evening,  bare-headed,  conspicuously  tall  if 
conspicuous  in  no  other  way;  dressed  for  dinner  or 
the  theatre  in  a  pale  gray,  sequined  gown  under  a 
mauve  chiffon  cloak  meant  for  warm  nights  of 
summer. 

Of  course,  as  Mrs.  Ellsworth  (giver  of  dress  and 
wrap)  often  pointed  out,  "beggars  mustn't  be 
choosers";  and  Annesley  Grayle  was  worse  off  than 
a  beggar,  because  beggars  needn't  keep  up  appear- 
ances. She  should  have  thanked  Heaven  for  good 
clothes,  and  so  she  did  in  chastened  moods;  but  it 
was  a  costume  to  make  a  girl  hurry  through  the 
Strand,  and  just  for  an  instant  she  had  been  glad  to 
turn  from  the  white  glare  into  comparative  dimness. 

That  was  because  offensive  eyes  had  made  her  for- 
get the  almost  immediate  future  in  the  quite  imme- 
diate present.  But  the  hotel,  with  light-hearted  taxis 
tearing  up  to  it,  brought  remembrance  with  a  shock. 
She  envied  everyone  else  who  was  bound  for  the 
Savoy,  even  old  women,  and  fat  gentlemen  with 
large  noses.  They  were  going  there  because  they 
wanted  to  go,  for  their  pleasure.  Nobody  in  the 
world  could  be  in  such  an  appalling  situation  as  she 
was. 


A  WHITE  ROSE  5 

It  was  then  that  Annesley's  feet  began  to  drag, 
and  she  slowed  her  steps  to  gain  more  time  to  think. 
Could  she — could  she  do  the  thing? 

For  days  ter  soul  had  been  rushing  toward  this 
moment  with  thousand-horsepower  speed,  like  a 
lonely  comet  tearing  through  space.  But  then  it  had 
been  distant,  the  terrible  goal.  She  had  not  had  to 
gasp  among  her  heart-throbs:  "Now!  It  is  now!" 

Creep  as  she  might,  three  minutes  brought  her 
from  the  turning  out  of  the  Strand  close  to  the  wel- 
coming entrance  where  revolving  doors  of  glass  re- 
ceived radiant  visions  dazzling  as  moonlight  on  snow. 

"No,  I  can't!"  the  girl  told  herself,  desperately. 
She  wheeled  more  quickly  than  the  whirling  door, 
hoping  that  no  one  would  think  her  mad.  "All  the 
same,  I  was  mad,"  she  admitted,  "to  fancy  I  could 
do  it.  I  ought  to  have  known  I  couldn't,  when  the 
time  came.  I'm  the  last  person  to — well,  I'm  sane 
again  now,  anyway!" 

A  few  long  steps  carried  the  girl  in  the  sparkling 
dress  and  transparent  cloak  into  the  Strand  again. 
But  something  queer  was  happening  there.  People 
were  shouting  and  running.  A  man  with  a  raucous, 
alcoholic  voice,  yelled  words  Annesley  could  not 
catch.  A  woman  gave  a  squeaking  scream  that 
sounded  both  ridiculous  and  dreadful.  Breaking 
glass  crashed.  A  growl  of  human  anger  mingled 
with  the  roar  of  motor-omnibuses,  and  Miss  Grayle 
fell  back  from  it  as  from  a  slammed  door  in  a  high 
wall. 

As  she  stood  hesitating  what  to  do  and  wondering 


6  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

if  there  were  a  fire  or  a  murder,  two  women,  laughing 
hysterically,  rushed  past  into  the  hotel  court. 

"Hurry  up,"  panted  one  of  them.  "They'll  think 
we  belong  to  the  gang.  Let's  go  into  the  hotel  and 
stay  until  it's  over." 

"Oh,  what  is  it?"  Annesley  entreated,  running 
after  the  couple. 

"Burglars  at  a  jeweller's  window  close  by — there 
are  women — they're  being  arrested,"  one  of  the  pair 
flung  over  her  shoulder,  as  both  hurried  on. 

"'Women  .  .  .  being  arrested  .  .  .'" 
That  meant  that  if  she  plunged  into  the  fray  she  might 
be  mistaken  for  a  woman  burglar,  and  arrested  with 
the  guilty.  Even  if  she  lurked  where  she  was,  a 
prowling  policeman  might  suppose  she  sought  con- 
cealment, and  bag  her  as  a  militant. 

Imagine  what  Mrs.  Ellsworth  would  say — and  do 
— if  she  were  taken  off  to  jail! 

Annesley's  heart  seemed  to  drop  out  of  its  place, 
to  go  "crossways,"  as  her  old  Irish  nurse  used  to  say 
a  million  years  ago. 

Without  stopping  to  think  again,  or  even  to 
breathe,  she  flew  back  to  the  hotel  entrance,  as  a 
migrating  bird  follows  its  leader,  and  slipped  through 
the  revolving  door  behind  the  fugitives. 

"It's  fate,"  she  thought.  "This  must  be  a  sign 
coming  just  when  I'd  made  up  my  mind." 

Suddenly  she  was  no  longer  afraid,  though  her 
heart  was  pounding  under  the  thin  cloak.  Fra- 
grance of  hothouse  flowers  and  expensive  perfume 
from  women's  dresses  intoxicated  the  girl  as  a  glass 


A  WHITE  ROSE  7 

of  champagne  forced  upon  one  who  has  never  tasted 
wine  flies  to  the  head.  She  felt  herself  on  the  tide 
of  adventure,  moving  because  she  must;  the  soul 
which  would  have  fled,  to  return  to  Mrs.  Ellsworth, 
was  a  coward  not  worthy  to  live  in  her  body. 

She  had  room  in  her  crowded  mind  to  think  how 
queer  it  was — and  how  queer  it  would  seem  all  the 
rest  of  her  life  hi  looking  back — that  she  should  have 
the  course  of  her  existence  changed  because  burg- 
lars had  broken  some  panes  of  glass  in  the  Strand. 

"Just  because  of  them — creatures  I'll  never  meet — 
I'm  going  to  see  this  through  to  the  end,"  she  said, 
flinging  up  her  chin  and  looking  entirely  unlike  the 
Annesley  Grayle  Mrs.  Ellsworth  knew.  "To  the 
end!"  ' 

She  thrilled  at  the  word,  which  had  as  much  of  the 
unknown  in  it  as  though  it  were  the  world's  end  she 
referred  to,  and  she  were  jumping  off. 

"Will  you  please  tell  me  where  to  leave  my  wrap?" 
she  heard  herself  rnquiring  of  a  footman  as  magnifi- 
cent as,  and  far  better  dressed  than,  the  Apollo 
Belvedere.  Her  voice  sounded  natural.  She  was 
glad.  This  added  to  her  courage.  It  was  wonderful 
to  feel  brave.  Life  was  so  deadly,  worse — so  stuffy — 
at  Mrs.  Ellsworth's,  that  if  she  had  ever  been  nor- 
mally brave  like  other  girls,  she  had  had  the  young 
splendour  of  her  courage  crushed  out. 

The  statue  in  gray  plush  and  dark  blue  cloth  came 
to  life,  and  showed  her  the  cloak-room. 

Other  women  were  there,  taking  last,  affectionate 
peeps  at  themselves  in  the  long  mirrors.  Annesley 


8  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

took  a  last  peep  at  herself  also,  not  an  affectionate 
but  an  anxious  one.  Compared  with  these  visions, 
was  she  (in  Mrs.  Ellsworth's  cast-off  clothes,  made 
over  in  odd  moments  by  the  wearer)  so  dowdy  and 
second-hand  that — that — a  stranger  would  be 
ashamed  to ? 

The  question  feared  to  finish  itself. 

"I  do  look  like  a  lady,  anyhow,"  the  girl  thought 
with  defiance.  "That's  what  he — that  seems  to  be 
the  test." 

Now  she  was  in  a  hurry  to  get  the  ordeal  over. 
Instead  of  hanging  back  she  walked  briskly  out  of 
the  cloak-room  before  those  who  had  entered  ahead 
of  her  finished  patting  their  hair  or  putting  powder 
on  their  noses. 

It  was  worse  in  the  large  vestibule,  where  men  sat( 
or  stood,  waiting  for  their  feminine  belongings;  and 
she  was  the  only  woman  alone.  But  her  boat  was 
launched  on  the  wild  sea.  There  was  no  returning. 

The  rendezvous  arranged  was  in  what  he  had  called 
in  his  letter  "the  foyer." 

Annesley  went  slowly  down  the  steps,  trying  not 
to  look  aimless.  She  decided  to  steer  for  one  of  the 
high-back  brocaded  chairs  which  had  little  satellite 
tables.  Better  settle  on  one  in  the  middle  of  the 
hall. 

This  would  give  him  a  chance  to  see  and  recognize 
her  from  the  description  she  had  written  of  the  dress 
she  would  wear  (she  had  not  mentioned  that  she'd 
be  spared  all  trouble  in  choosing,  as  it  was  her  only 
real  evening  frock),  and  to  notice  that  she  wore, 


A  WHITE  ROSE  9 

according  to  arrangement,  a  white  rose  tucked  into 
the  neck  of  her  bodice. 

She  felt  conscious  of  her  hands,  and  especially  of 
her  feet  and  ankles,  for  she  had  not  been  able  to 
make  Mrs.  Ellsworth's  dress  quite  long  enough. 
Luckily  it  was  the  fashion  of  the  moment  to  wear 
the  skirt  short,  and  she  had  painted  her  old  white 
suede  slippers  silver. 

She  believed  that  she  had  pretty  feet.  But  oh! 
what  if  the  darn  running  up  the  heel  of  the  pearl- 
gray  silk  stocking  should  show,  or  have  burst  again 
into  a  hole  as  she  jumped  out  of  the  omnibus?  She 
could  have  laughed  hysterically,  as  the  escaping 
women  had  laughed,  when  she  realized  that  the  fear 
of  such  a  catastrophe  was  overcoming  graver  horrors. 

Perhaps  it  was  well  to  have  a  counter-irritant. 

Though  Annesley  Grayle  was  the  only  manless 
woman  in  the  foyer,  the  people  who  sat  there — with 
one  exception — did  not  stare.  Though  she  had 
five  feet  eight  inches  of  height,  and  was  graceful 
despite  self-consciousness,  her  appearance  was  dis- 
tinguished rather  than  striking.  Yes,  "distin- 
guished" was  the  word  for  it,  decided  the  one 
exception  who  gazed  with  particular  interest  at  that 
tall,  slight  figure  in  gray-sequined  chiffon  too  old- 
looking  for  the  young  face. 

He  was  sitting  in  a  corner  against  the  wall,  and 
had  in  his  hands  a  copy  of  the  Sphere,  which  was 
so  large  when  held  high  and  wide  open  that  the 
reader  could  hide  behind  it.  He  had  been  in  his 
corner  for  fifteen  or  twenty  minutes  when  Annesley 


10  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

Grayle  arrived,  glancing  over  the  top  of  his  paper 
with  a  sort  of  jaunty  carelessness  every  few  min- 
utes at  the  crowd  moving  toward  the  restaurant, 
picking  out  some  individual,  then  dropping  his  eyes 
to  the  Sphere. 

For  the  girl  in  gray  he  had  a  long,  appraising  look, 
studying  her  every  point;  but  he  did  the  thing  so  well 
that,  even  had  she  turned  her  head  his  way,  she  need 
not  have  been  embarrassed.  All  she  would  have  seen 
was  a  man's  forehead  and  a  rim  of  smooth  black 
hair  showing  over  the  top  of  an  illustrated  paper. 

What  he  saw  was  a  clear  profile  with  a  delicate  nose 
slightly  tilting  upward  in  a  proud  rather  than  im- 
pertinent way;  an  arch  of  eyebrow  daintily  sketched; 
a  large  eye  which  might  be  gray  or  violet;  a  drooping 
mouth  with  a  short  upper  lip;  a  really  charming  chin, 
and  a  long  white  throat;  skin  softly  pale,  like  white 
velvet;  thick,  ash-blond  hair  parted  in  the  middle 
and  worn  Madonna  fashion — there  seemed  to  be  a 
lot  of  it  in  the  coil  at  the  nape  of  her  neck. 

The  creature  looked  too  simple,  too — not  dowdy, 
but  too  unsophisticated,  to  have  anything  false 
about  her.  Figure  too  thin,  hardly  to  be  called  a 
"figure"  at  all,  but  agreeably  girlish;  and  its  owner 
might  be  anywhere  from  twenty  to  five  or  six  years 
older.  Not  beautiful:  just  an  average,  lady-like 
English  girl — or  perhaps  more  of  Irish  type;  but 
certainly  with  possibilities.  If  she  were  a  princess  or 
a  millionairess,  she  might  be  glorified  by  newspapers 
as  a  beauty. 

Annesley  forced  her  nervous  limbs  to  slow  move- 


A  WHITE  ROSE  11 

ment,  because  she  hoped,  or  dreaded — anyhow,  ex- 
pected— that  one  of  the  dozen  or  so  unattached  men 
would  spring  up  and  say,  constrainedly,  "MissGrayle, 
I  believe? — er — how  do  you  do?"  If  only  he  might 
not  be  fat  or  very  bald-headed ! 

He  had  not  described  himself  at  all.  Everything 
was  to  depend  on  her  gray  dress  and  the  white  rose. 
That  seemed,  now  one  came  face  to  face  with  the 
fear,  rather  ominous. 

But  no  one  sprang  up.  No  one  wanted  to  know 
if  she  were  Miss  Grayle;  and  this,  although  she  was 
ten  minutes  late. 

Her  instructions  as  to  what  to  do  at  the  Savoy  were 
clear.  If  she  were  not  met  in  the  foyer,  she  was  to 
go  into  the  restaurant  and  ask  for  a  table  reserved  for 
Mr.  N.  Smith.  There  she  was  to  sit  and  wait  to  be 
joined  by  him.  She  had  never  contemplated  having 
to  carry  out  the  latter  clause,  however;  and  when  she 
had  loitered  for  a  few  seconds,  the  thought  rushed 
over  her  that  here  was  a  loop-hole  through  which  to 
slip,  if  she  wanted  a  loophole. 

One  side  of  her  did  want  it :  the  side  she  knew  best 
and  longest  as  herself,  Annesley  Grayle,  a  timid  girl 
brought  up  conventionally,  and  taught  that  to  rely 
on  others  older  and  wiser  than  she  was  the  right  way 
for  a  well-born,  sheltered  woman  to  go  through  life. 
The  other  side,  the  new,  desperate  side  that  Mrs. 
Ellsworth's  "stuffiness"  had  developed,  was  not 
looking  for  any  means  of  escape;  and  this  side  had 
seized  the  upper  hand  since  the  alarm  of  the  burglars 
in  the  Strand. 


12  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

Annesley  marched  into  the  restaurant  with  the 
air  of  a  soldier  facing  his  first  battle,  and  asked  a 
waiter  where  was  Mr.  Smith's  table. 

The  youth  dashed  off  and  produced  a  duke-like 
personage,  his  chief.  A  list  was  consulted  with  care; 
and  Annesley  was  respectfully  informed  that  no 
table  had  been  engaged  by  a  Mr.  N.  Smith  for  dinner 
that  evening. 

"Are  you  sure?"  persisted  Annesley,  bewildered 
and  disappointed. 

"Yes,  miss — madame,  I  am  sure  we  have  not  the 
name  on  our  list,"  said  the  head-waiter. 

The  blankness  of  the  girl's  disappointment  looked 
out  appealingly  from  wistful,  wide-apart  eyes.  The 
man  was  sorry. 

"There  may  be  some  misunderstanding,"  he  con- 
soled her.  "Perhaps  Mr.  Smith  has  telephoned,  and 
we  have  not  received  the  message.  I  hope  it  is  not 
the  fault  of  the  hotel.  We  do  not  often  make 
mistakes;  yet  it  is  possible.  We  have  had  a  few 
early  dinners  before  the  theatre  and  there  is  one 
small  table  disengaged.  Would  madame  care  to 
take  it — it  is  here,  close  to  the  door — and  watch  for 
the  gentleman  when  he  comes?" 

"  When  he  comes ! "  The  head-waiter  comfortably 
took  it  for  granted  that  Mr.  Smith  had  been  delayed, 
that  he  would  come,  and  that  it  would  be  a  pity  to 
miss  him.  The  polite  person  might  be  right,  though 
with  a  sinking  heart  Annesley  began  to  suspect  her- 
self played  with,  abandoned,  as  she  deserved,  for  her 
dreadful  boldness. 


A  VTEITE  ROSE  13 

Perhaps  Mr.  Smith  had  been  in  communication 
with  someone  else  more  suitable  than  she,  and  had 
thrown  over  the  appointment  without  troubling  to 
let  her  know.  Or  perhaps  he  had  been  waiting  in 
the  foyer,  had  inspected  her  as  she  passed,  and  hadn't 
liked  her  looks. 

This  latter  supposition  seemed  probable;  but  the 
head-waiter  was  so  confident  of  what  she  ought  to 
do  that  the  girl  could  think  of  no  excuse.  After  all, 
it  would  do  little  harm  to  wait  and  "see  what  hap- 
pened." As  Mr.  Smith  was  apparently  not  living 
at  the  Savoy  (he  had  merely  asked  her  to  meet  him 
there),  he  might  have  had  an  accident  in  train  or 
taxi.  Annesley  had  made  her  plans  to  be  away  from 
home  for  two  hours,  so  she  could  give  him  the  benefit 
of  the  doubt. 

A  moment  of  hesitation,  and  she  was  seating  her- 
self in  a  chair  offered  by  the  head-waiter.  It  was 
one  of  a  couple  drawn  up  at  a  small  table  for  two. 
Sitting  thus,  Annesley  could  see  everybody  who  came 
in,  and — what  was  more  important — could  be  seen. 
By  what  struck  her  as  an  odd  coincidence,  the  table 
was  decorated  with  a  vase  of  white  roses  whose  hearts 
blushed  faintly  in  the  light  of  a  pink-shaded  electric 
lamp. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour,  twenty  minutes,  dragged 
along,  and  no  Mr.  Smith.  Annesley  could  follow 
the  passing  moments  on  her  wrist-watch  in  its  silver 
bracelet,  the  only  present  Mrs.  Ellsworth  had  ever 
given  her,  with  the  exception  of  cast-off  clothes,  and 
a  pocket  handkerchief  each  Christmas. 


14  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

Every  nerve  in  the  girl's  body  seemed  to  prickle 
with  embarrassment.  She  played  with  a  dinner  roll, 
changed  the  places  of  the  flowers  and  the  lamp, 
trying  to  appear  at  ease,  and  not  daring  to  look  up 
lest  she  should  meet  eyes  curious  or  pitying. 

"What  if  they  make  me  pay  for  dinner  after  I've 
kept  the  table  so  long?"  she  thought  in  her  ignorance 
of  hotel  customs.  "And  I've  got  only  a  shilling!" 

Half  an  hour  now,  all  but  two  minutes !  There  was 
nothing  more  to  hope  or  fear.  But  there  was  the 
ordeal  of  getting  away. 

"I'll  sit  out  the  two  minutes,"  she  told  herself. 
"  Then  I'll  go.  Ought  I  to  tip  the  waiter?  "  Horrible 
doubt!  And  she  must  have  been  dreaming  to  touch 
that  roll!  Better  sneak  away  while  the  waiter  was 
busy  at  a  distance. 

Frightened,  miserable,  she  was  counting  her 
chances  when  a  man,  whose  coming  into  the  room 
her  dilemma  had  caused  her  to  miss,  marched  un- 
hesitatingly to  her  table. 


CHAPTER  II 
SMITHS  AND  SMITHS 

ANNESLEY  glanced  up,  her  face  aflame,  like  a 
fanned  coal.  The  man  was  tall,  dark,  lean,  square- 
jawed,  handsome  in  just  that  thrilling  way  which 
magazine  illustrators  and  women  love;  the  ideal 
story-hero  to  look  at,  even  to  the  clothes  which 
any  female  serial  writer  would  certainly  have  de- 
scribed as  "immaculate  evening  dress." 

It  was  too  good — oh,  far  too  wonderfully  good ! — to 
be  true  that  this  man  should  be  Mr.  Smith.  Yet  if 

he  were  not  Mr.  Smith  why  should  he Annesley 

got  no  farther  in  the  thought,  though  it  flashed 
through  her  mind  quick  as  light.  Before  she  had 
time  to  seek  an  answer  for  her  question  the  man — 
who  was  young,  or  youngish,  not  more  than  thirty- 
three  or  four — had  bent  over  her  as  if  greeting  a 
friend,  and  had  begun  to  speak  in  a  low  voice  blurred 
by  haste  or  some  excitement. 

"You  will  do  me  an  immense  service,"  he  said, 
"if  you'll  pretend  to  know  me  and  let  me  sit  down 
here.  You  sha'n't  regret  it,  and  it  may  save  my  life." 

"Sit  down,"  answered  something  in  Annesley 
that  was  newly  awake.  She  found  her  hand  being 
warmly  shaken.  Then  the  man  took  the  chair  re- 

15 


16  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

served  for  Mr.  Smith,  just  as  she  realized  fully  that 
he  wasn't  Mr.  Smith.  Her  heart  was  beating  fast, 
her  eyes — fixed  on  the  man's  face,  waiting  for  some 
explanation — were  dilated. 

"Thank  you,"  he  said,  leaning  toward  her,  in  his 
hand  a  menu  which  the  waiter  had  placed  before 
the  girl  while  she  was  still  alone.  She  noticed  that 
the  hand  was  brown  and  nervous-looking,  the  hand 
of  a  man  who  might  be  a  musician  or  an  artist.  He 
was  pretending  to  read  the  menu,  and  to  consult  her 
about  it.  "You're  a  true  woman,  the  right  sort- 
brave.  I  swear  I'm  not  here  for  any  impertinence. 
Now,  will  you  go  on  helping  me?  Can  you  keep 
your  wits  and  not  give  me  away,  whatever  happens?  " 

"  I  think  so,"  answered  the  new  Annesley.  "  What 
do  you  want  me  to  do?"  She  took  the  pitch  of  her 
tone  from  his,  speaking  quietly,  and  wondering  if  she 
would  not  wake  up  in  her  ugly  brown  bedroom  at 
Mrs.  Ellsworth's,  as  she  had  done  a  dozen  times  when 
dreaming  in  advance  of  her  rendezvous  at  the  Savoy. 

"It  will  be  a  shock  when  I  tell  you,"  he  answered. 
"But  for  Heaven's  sake,  don't  misunderstand.  I 
shouldn't  ask  this  if  it  weren't  absolutely  necessary. 
In  case  a  man  comes  to  this  table  and  questions  you, 
you  must  let  him  suppose  that  you  are  my  wife." 

"Oh!"  gasped  Annesley.  Her  eyes  met  the  eyes 
that  seemed  to  have  been  waiting  for  her  look,  and 
they  answered  with  an  appeal  which  she  could  not 
refuse. 

She  did  not  stop  to  think  that  if  the  dark  eyes  had 
not  been  so  handsome  they  might  have  been  easier 


SMITHS  AND  SMITHS  17 

to  resist.  She — the  suppressed  and  timid  girl,  never 
allowed  to  make  up  her  mind — let  herself  go  with 
the  wave  of  strong  emotion  carrying  her  along,  and 
reached  a  resolve. 

"  It  means  trusting  you  a  great  deal,"  she  answered. 
"But  you  say  you're  in  danger,  so  I'll  do  what  you 
ask.  I  think  you  can't  be  wicked  enough  to  pay  me 
back  by  trying  to  hurt  me." 

"You  think  right,"  the  man  said,  and  it  struck  her 
that  his  accent  was  not  quite  English .  She  wondered  if 
he  were  Canadian  or  American.  Not  that  she  knew 
much  about  either.  "A  woman  like  you  would  think 
right!"  he  went  on.  "Only  one  woman  out  of  ten 
thousand  would  have  the  nerve  and  presence  of  mind 
and  the  humanity  to  do  what  you're  doing.  When 
I  came  into  this  room  and  saw  your  face  I  counted 
on  you." 

Annesley  blushed  again  in  a  rush  of  happiness. 
She  had  always  longed  to  do  something  which  would 
really  matter  to  another  soul.  She  had  even  prayed 
for  it.  Now  the  moment  seemed  to  have  come. 
God  would  not  let  her  be  the  victim  of  an  ignoble 
trick! 

"I'm  glad,"  she  said,  her  face  lit  by  a  light  from 
within.  And  at  that  moment,  bending  toward  each 
other,  they  were  a  beautiful  couple.  A  seeker  of 
romance  would  have  taken  them  for  lovers. 

"Tell  me  what  you  want  me  to  do,"  Annesley  said 
once  more. 

"The  worst  of  it  is,  I  can't  tell  you  exactly.  Two 
men  may  come  into  this  restaurant  looking  for  me. 


18  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

One  or  both  will  speak  to  me.  They'll  call  me  a  cer 
tain  name,  and  I  shall  say  they've  made  a  mistake. 
You  must  say  so,  too.  You  must  tell  them  I'm  your 
husband,  and  stick  to  that  no  matter  what  the  man, 
or  men,  may  tell  you  about  me.  The  principal  thing 
now  is  to  choose  a  name.  But — by  Jove — I  forgot 
it  in  my  hurry!  Are  you  expecting  any  one  to  join 
you?  If  you  are,  it's  awkward." 

"I  was  expecting  someone,  but  I've  given  him 
up." 

"Was  this  table  taken  in  his  name  or  yours?  Or, 
perhaps — but  no,  I'm  sure  you're  not  /" 

"Sure  I'm  not  what?" 

"Married.  You're  a  girl.  Your  eyes  haven't  got 
any  experience  of  life  in  them." 

Annesley  looked  down;  and  when  she  looked  down 
her  face  was  very  sweet.  She  had  long,  curved 
brown  lashes  a  shade  or  two  darker  than  her  hair. 

"I'm  not  married,"  she  said,  rather  stiffly.  "I 
thought  a  table  had  been  engaged  in  the  name  of 
Mr.  Smith,  but  there  was  a  misunderstanding.  The 
head  waiter  put  me  at  this  table  in  case  Mr.  Smith 
should  come.  I've  given  him  up  now,  and  was  going 
away  when " 

"When  you  took  pity  on  a  nameless  man.  But  it 
seems  indicated  that  he  should  be  Mr.  Smith,  unless 
you  have  any  objection!" 

"No,  I  have  none.  You'd  better  take  the  name, 
as  I  mentioned  it  to  the  waiter." 

"And  the  first  name?" 

"I  don't  know.     The  initial  I  gave  was  N." 


SMITHS  AND  SMITHS  19 

"Very  well,  I  choose  Nelson.     Where  do  we  live?" 

Annesley  stared,  frightened. 

"Forgive  me,"  the  man  said.  "I  ought  to  have 
explained  what  I  meant  before  asking  you  that,  or 
put  the  question  another  way.  Will  you  go  on  as 
you've  begun,  and  trust  me  farther,  by  letting  me 
drive  with  you  to  your  home,  if  necessary,  in  case  of 
being  followed?  At  worst,  I'll  need  to  beg  no  more 
than  to  stand  inside  your  front  door  for  a  few  minutes 
if  we're  watched,  and — but  I  see  that  this  time  I  have 
passed  the  limit.  I'm  expecting  too  much!  How 
do  you  know  but  I  may  be  a  thief  or  a  murderer?" 

"I  hadn't  thought  of  such  a  thing,"  Annesley 
stammered.  "I  was  only  thinking — it  isn't  my 
house.  It  doesn't  even  belong  to  my  people.  I  live 
with  an  old  lady,  Mrs.  Ellsworth.  I  hope  she'll  be 
in  bed  when  I  get  back,  and  the  servants,  too.  I 
have  a  key  because — because  I  told  a  fib  about  the 
place  where  I  was  going,  and  consequently  Mrs. 
Ellsworth  approved.  If  she  hadn't  approved,  I 
shouldn't  have  been  allowed  out.  I  could  let  you 
stand  inside  the  door.  But  if  any  one  followed  us 
to  the  house,  and  saw  the  number,  he  could  look  in 
the  directory,  and  find  out  that  it  belonged  to  Mrs. 
Ellsworth,  not  Mr.  Smith." 

"He  couldn't  have  a  directory  in  his  pocket!  By 
the  time  he  got  hold  of  one  and  could  make  any  use 
of  his  knowledge,  I'd  be  far  away." 

"Yes,  I  suppose  you  would,"  Annesley  thought 
aloud,  and  a  little  voice  seemed  to  add  sharply  in 
her  ear:  "Far  away  out  of  my  life." 


20  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

This  brought  to  her  memory  what  she  had  in  her 
excitement  forgotten:  the  adventure  she  had  come 
out  to  meet  had  faded  into  thin  air!  The  unex- 
pected one  which  had  so  startlingly  taken  its  place 
would  end  to-night,  and  she  would  be  left  to  the 
dreary  existence  from  which  she  had  tried  to  break 
free. 

She  was  like  a  pebble  that  had  succeeded  in  riding 
out  to  sea  on  a  wave,  only  to  be  washed  back  into  its 
old  place  on  the  shore.  The  thought  that,  after  all, 
she  had  no  change  to  look  forward  to,  gave  the  girl 
a  passionate  desire  to  make  the  most  of  this  one  living 
hour  among  many  that  were  born  dead. 

"Mrs.  Ellsworth's  house,"  she  said,  "is  22-A,  Tor- 
rington  Square." 

"Thank  you."  Only  these  two  words  he  spoke, 
but  the  eager  dark  eyes  seemed  to  add  praise  and 
blessings  for  her  confidence. 

"My  name  is  Annesley  Grayle,"  she  volunteered, 
as  if  to  prove  to  the  man  and  to  herself  how  far  she 
trusted  him;  also  perhaps  as  a  bid  for  his  name  in 
payment  of  that  trust.  So  at  least  he  must  have 
understood,  for  he  said:  "If  I  don't  tell  you  mine, 
it's  for  your  own  protection.  I'm  not  ashamed  of 
it;  but  it's  better  that  you  shouldn't  know — that  if 
you  heard  it  suddenly,  it  should  be  strange  to  you, 
just  like  any  other  name.  Don't  you  see  I'm  right?  " 

"I  dare  say  you  are." 

"Then  we'll  leave  it  at  that.  But  we  can't  go  on 
pretending  to  study  this  menu  for  ever!  You  came 
to  dine  with  Mr.  Smith.  You'll  dine  with  his  under- 


SMITHS  AND  SMITHS  21 

study  instead.  You'll  let  me  order  dinner?  It's 
part  of  the  programme." 

"Very  well,"  Annesley  agreed. 

The  man  nodded  to  the  head-waiter,  who  had  been 
interested  in  the  little  drama  indirectly  stage- 
managed  by  him.  Instead  of  sending  a  subordinate, 
he  came  himself  to  take  the  order.  With  wonderful 
promptness,  considering  that  Mr.  Smith's  thoughts 
had  not  been  near  the  menu  under  his  eyes,  several 
dishes  were  chosen  and  a  wine  selected. 

"Madame  is  glad  now  that  I  persuaded  her  not  to 
go?  "  the  waiter  could  not  resist,  and  Annesley  replied 
that  she  was  glad.  As  the  man  turned  away,  "Mr. 
Smith"  raised  his  eyebrows  with  rather  a  wistful 
smile. 

"I'm  afraid  you're  sorry,  really,"  he  said.  "If  I'd 
come  a  minute  later  than  I  did,  you'd  have  been  safe 
and  happy  at  home  by  this  time." 

"Not  happy,"  amended  the  girl.  " Because  it  isn't 
home.  If  it  were,  I  shouldn't  have  told  fibs  to  Mrs. 
Ellsworth  to-night." 

"That  sounds  interesting,"  remarked  her  com- 
panion. 

"  It's  not  interesting ! "  she  assured  him.  " Nothing 
in  my  life  is.  I  don't  want  to  bore  you  by  talking 
about  my  affairs,  but  if  you  think  we  may  be — inter- 
rupted, perhaps,  I'd  better  explain  one  or  two  things 
while  there's  time.  I  wanted  to  come  here  this 
evening  to  keep  an  engagement  I'd  made,  but  it's 
difficult  for  me  to  get  out  alone.  Mrs.  Ellsworth 
doesn't  like  to  be  left,  and  she  never  lets  me  go  any- 


22  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

where  without  her  except  to  the  house  of  some 
friends  of  mine,  the  only  real  friends  I  have.  It's 
odd,  but  their  name  is  Smith,  and  that  saved  my 
telling  a  direct  lie.  Not  that  a  half-lie  isn't  worse, 
it's  so  cowardly ! 

"Mrs.  Ellsworth  likes  me  to  go  to  Archdeacon  and 
Mrs.  Smith's  because — I'm  afraid  because  she  thinks 
they're  *  swells.'  Mrs.  Smith  has  a  duke  for  an  uncle ! 
Mrs.  Ellsworth  said  *yes'  a^  once,  when  I  asked,  and 
gave  me  her  key  and  permission  to  stop  out  till  half- 
past  ten,  though  everyone  in  the  house  is  supposed 
to  be  in  bed  by  ten.  She's  almost  sure  to  be  in  bed 
herself,  but  if  she  gets  interested  in  one  of  the  books 
I  brought  from  the  library  to-day,  it's  possible  she 
may  be  sitting  up  to  read,  and  to  ask  about  my  even- 
ing. 

"Our  bedrooms  are  on  the  ground  floor  at  the  back 
of  an  addition  to  the  house.  What  if  she  should  hear 
the  latchkey  (it's  old  fashioned  and  hard  to  work), 
and  what  if  she  should  come  to  the  swing  door  at  the 
end  of  the  corridor  where  she'd  see  you  with  me? 
What  would  you  say  or  do?" 

"H'm!  It  would  be  awkward.  But — isn't  there 
a  young  Smith  in  your  Archdeacon's  family?" 

"There  is  one,  but  I  haven't  seen  him  since  I  was  a 
little  girl.  He's  a  sailor.  He's  away  now  on  an  Arctic 
expedition." 

"Then  it  wasn't  that  Mr.  Smith  you  came  to  meet 
at  the  Savoy?" 

"No.  They're  not  related."  As  Annesley  re- 
turned in  thought  to  the  Mr.  Smith  who  had  thrown 


SMITHS  AND  SMITHS  23 

her  over,  she  took  from  her  bodice  the  white  rose 
which  was  to  have  identified  her  for  him,  and  found 
it  a  place  in  the  vase  with  the  other  white  roses.  She 
had  a  special  reason  for  doing  this.  The  real  Mr. 
Smith,  if  by  any  chance  he  appeared  now,  would  be 
a  complication.  Without  the  rose  he  could  not  claim 
her  acquaintance. 

"Why  do  you  do  that?"  her  companion  broke  the 
thread  of  his  questioning  to  ask. 

The  girl  was  tempted  to  tell  some  easy  fib  that  the 
rose  was  faded,  or  too  fragrant;  but  somehow  she 
could  not.  They  both  seemed  so  close  to  the  deep- 
down  things  of  life  at  this  moment  that  to  speak  the 
truth  was  the  one  possible  thing. 

"I  arranged  to  wear  a  white  rose  for  Mr.  Smith  to 
recognize  me.  We — have  never  seen  each  other," 
she  confessed. 

"Yet  you  say  there's  nothing  interesting  in  your 
life!" 

"It's  true!  This  thing  was — was  dreadful.  It 
could  happen  only  to  a  girl  whose  life  was  not  in- 
teresting." 

"Now  I  understand  why  you  put  away  the  rose — 
for  my  sake,  in  case  Mr.  Smith  should  turn  up,  after 
all.  Will  you  give  it  to  me?  I  won't  flaunt  it  in 
my  buttonhole.  I'll  hide  it  sacredly,  in  memory  of 
this  evening — and  of  you.  Not  that  I  shall  need  to 
be  reminded  of  anything  which  concerns  this  night — 
you  especially,  and  your  generosity,  your  courage. 
But  it  may  be  that  the  men  I  spoke  of  won't  find  me 
here.  If  they  don't,  the  worst  of  your  ordeal  is  over. 


24  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

It  will  only  be  to  finish  dinner,  and  let  me  put  you 
into  a  taxi.  To-morrow  you  can  think  that  you 
dreamed  the  wretch  who  appealed  to  you,  and  be 
glad  that  you  will  never  see  him  again." 

Annesley  selected  her  white  rose  from  its  fellows, 
dried  its  stem  daintily  with  her  napkin,  and  gave  the 
flower  to  "Mr.  Smith."  Already  it  looked  refreshed, 
as  she  herself  felt  refreshed,  after  five  years  of  "stuffi- 
ness," by  these  few  throbbing  moments. 

Their  hands  touched,  and  through  Annesley 's 
darted  a  little  tingle  of  electricity  that  flashed  up  her 
arm  to  her  heart,  where  it  caught  like  a  hooked  wire. 
She  was  surprised,  almost  frightened  by  the  sensation, 
and  ashamed  because  she  didn't  find  it  disagreeable. 

"It  must  be  that  people  who're  really  alive,  as  he 
is,  give  out  magnetism,"  she  thought.  And  the  thrill 
lingered  as  the  man  thanked  her  with  eyes  and  voice. 

When  he  had  looked  at  the  rose  curiously,  as  if 
expecting  to  learn  from  it  the  secret  of  its  wearer,  he 
put  the  flower  away  in  a  letter-case  in  an  inner  breast 
pocket  of  his  coat. 

For  once  Annesley  was  face  to  face  with  romance, 
and  even  though  she  would  presently  go  back  to  the 
old  round  (since  the  adventure  she  came  out  to  meet 
had  failed),  she  was  stirred  to  a  wild  gladness  in  this 
other  adventure.  The  hors  (Toeuvres  appeared;  then 
soup,  and  wine,  which  Mr.  Smith  begged  her  to  taste. 

"Drink  luck  for  me,"  he  insisted.  "You  and  you 
alone  can  bring  it." 

Annesley  drank.  And  the  champagne  filliped 
colour  to  her  cheeks. 


SMITHS  AND  SMITHS  25 

"Now  we'll  go  on  and  think  out  the  problem  of 
what  may  happen  at  your  door — if  Fate  takes  me 
there,"  the  man  said.  "Your  old  friend's  sailor  son 
is  no  use  to  me.  He  can't  be  whisked  back  from  the 
North  Pole  to  London  for  my  benefit.  Perhaps  I 
may  be  an  acquaintance  of  Archdeacon  Smith's, 
mayn't  I,  if  worst  comes  to  worst?  I've  been  dining 
there,  and  brought  you  back  in  a  taxi.  Will  that  do? 
If  there  are  fibs  to  tell,  I'll  tell  them  myself  and 
spare  you  if  possible." 

"After  all  I've  told  to-night,  one  or  two  more  can't 
matter,"  said  Annesley.  "They  won't  hurt  Mrs. 
Ellsworth.  It's  the  other  danger  that's  more  worry- 
ing— the  danger  from  those  men.  I've  thought  of 
something  that  may  help  if  they  follow  us  to  Torring- 
ton  Square.  They  may  ask  a  policeman  whose 
house  we've  gone  into,  and  find  out  it's  Mrs.  Ells- 
worth's, before  you  can  get  away.  So  it  will  be 
better  not  to  tell  them  it's  yours.  You  can  be  visit- 
ing. There  is  a  Mr.  Smith  who  comes  sometimes 
from  America,  where  he  lives,  though  he's  not 
American.  Even  the  policemen  who  have  that  beat 
may  have  heard  of  him  from  Mrs.  Ellsworth's  ser- 
vants. There's  a  room  kept  always  ready  for  him, 
and  called  'Mr.  Smith's  room/" 

"That  does  help,"  said  the  man.  "It's  clever  and 
kind  of  you  to  rack  your  brains  for  me.  A  Mr.  Smith 
from  America!  It's  easy  for  me  to  play  that  part, 
I'm  from  America.  Perhaps  you've  guessed  that?  " 

"But  you're  very  different  from  Mrs.  Ellsworth's 
Mr.  Smith,"  Annesley  warned  him,  hastily.  "He's 


26  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

middle-aged,  eccentric,  and  not  good-looking.  He 
conies  to  England  for  his  *  nerves'  when  he  has 
worked  too  hard  and  tired  himself  out.  I  think 
he's  rich;  and  once  he  was  robbed  in  some  big  hotel, 
so  he  likes  to  stay  at  a  plain  sort  of  house  where 
there's  no  danger.  He  has  a  horror  of  burglars, 
and  won't  even  stop  at  the  Archdeacon's  since  they 
had  a  burglary  a  few  years  ago.  He  pays  Mrs. 
Ellsworth  for  his  room,  I  believe.  A  funny  arrange- 
ment!— it  came  about  through  me.  But  that's  not 
of  importance  to  you." 

"It  may  be.  We  can't  tell.  Better  let  me  know 
as  much  as  possible  about  these  Smiths.  There's 
Mrs.  Ellsworth's  Smith,  and  the  Smith  you  came  to 
meet 

"We  needn't  talk  of  him,  anyway!" 

There  was  a  hint  of  anger  in  the  girl's  protest; 
but  her  resentment  was  for  the  man  who  had  hu- 
miliated her  by  breaking  his  appointment — such  an 
appointment! 

She  hurried  on,  trying  to  hide  all  signs  of  agita- 
tion. "You  see,  Mrs.  Ellsworth  once  hoped  to  have 
Archdeacon  Smith  and  his  wife  for  friends.  They 
didn't  care  for  her,  but  they  loved  my  father — oh, 
long  ago  in  the  country,  where  we  lived.  When  he 
died  and  I  hadn't  any  money  or  training  for  work, 
they  were  nice  to  Mrs.  Ellsworth  for  my  sake — or, 
rather,  for  my  father's  sake — and  persuaded  her  to 
take  me  as  her  companion.  She  was  glad  to  do  it  to 
please  them;  but  soon  she  realized  that  they  didn't 
mean  to  reward  her  by  being  intimate. 


SMITHS  AND  SMITHS  27 

"Poor  woman,  I  was  almost  sorry  for  her  disap- 
pointment! You  see,  she's  a  snob  at  heart,  and 
though  'Smith'  sounds  a  common  name,  both  the 
Archdeacon  and  his  wife  have  titled  relations.  So 
have  I — and  that  was  another  reason  for  taking  me. 
She  adores  a  title.  Doesn't  that  sound  pitiful?  But 
she  has  few  interests  and  no  real  friends,  so  she's 
never  given  up  hope  of  'collecting'  the  Smiths. 

"That's  why  she  lets  me  visit  them.  And  when  I 
happened  to  mention,  for  something  to  say,  that  the 
Archdeacon  had  an  eccentric  cousin  in  America  who 
was  afraid  of  hotels  and  even  of  visiting  at  their 
house  because  of  a  fad  about  burglars,  she  of- 
fered to  give  him  the  better  of  her  two  spare  rooms 
whenever  he  came  to  England.  I  never  thought 
he'd  accept,  but  he  did,  only  he  would  insist  on 
paying. 

"That's  the  story,  if  you  can  call  it  a  story,  for 
Mr.  Ruthven  Smith  isn't  a  bit  exciting  nor  interesting. 
When  he  appears — generally  quite  suddenly — he 
finds  his  room  ready.  He  has  his  breakfast  sent  up, 
and  lunches  out  at  his  club  or  somewhere.  He  mostly 
dines  out,  too,  but  he  has  a  standing  invitation  to 
dine  with  Mrs.  Ellsworth,  and  we  always  have 
good  dinners  when  he  is  staying,  to  be  ready  in  case 
of  the  worst." 

The  man  smiled,  rather  a  charming  smile,  Annesley 
could  not  help  noticing. 

"In  case  of  the  worst!"  he  repeated.  "He  must 
be  deadly  if  his  society  bores  you  more  than  that  of 
an  old  lady  on  whom,  I  suppose,  you  dance  attend- 


28  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

ance  morning,  noon,  and  night.  Now,  my  situation 
is  so — er — peculiar  that  I  ought  to  be  thankful  to 
exchange  identities  with  any  man.  But  I  wouldn't 
with  Mr.  Ruthven  Smith  for  all  his  money  and 
jewels." 

Annesley  opened  her  eyes.  "Did  I  say  anything 
about  jewels?"  she  asked. 

"No,  you  didn't,"  the  man  assured  her,  "except  in 
mentioning  the  name  of  Ruthven  Smith.  Anybody 
who  has  lived  in  America  as  long  as  I  have,  associates 
jewels  with  the  name  of  Ruthven  Smith.  His 
'Ruthven'  lifts  him  far  above  the  ruck  of  a  mere 
Smith — like  myself,  for  instance";  and  he  smiled 
again. 

Annesley  began  curiously  to  feel  as  if  she  knew  him 
well.  This  made  her  more  anxious  to  give  him  help 
— for  it  would  not  be  helping  a  stranger :  it  would  be 
helping  a  friend. 

"I've  heard,  of  course,  that  he's  something — I'm 
not  sure  what — in  a  firm  of  jewellers,"  she  said. 
"But  I'd  no  idea  of  his  being  so  important." 

"He's  third  partner  with  Van  Vreck  &  Co.,"  her 
companion  explained.  "I've  heard  he  joined  at 
first  because  of  his  great  knowledge  of  jewels  and 
because  he's  been  able  to  revive  the  lost  art  of  mak- 
ing certain  transparent  enamels.  The  Van  Vrecks 
sent  for  him  from  England  years  ago.  He  buys 
jewels  for  the  firm  now,  I  believe.  No  doubt  that's 
why  he's  in  such  a  funk  about  burglars." 

"  Fancy  your  knowing  more  about  Mr.  Smith  than 
I  know !  Perhaps  more  than  Mrs.  Ellsworth  knows !" 


SMITHS  AND  SMITHS  29 

exclaimed  Annesley,  forgetting  the  strain  of  expecta- 
tion— the  dread  that  a  pair  of  mysterious,  nightmare 
men  might  break  up  the  dreamlike  dinner-party  for 
two. 

"I  don't  know  more  about  him  than  half  America 
and  Europe  knows,"  laughed  the  man.  "It's  lucky 
I  do  know  something,  though,  as  I  may  have  to  be 
mistaken  for  Ruthven  Smith,  and  add  an  *N*  to  his 
initials.  I  suppose  he's  not  in  England  now  by  any 
chance?" 

"No.  It  must  be  six  or  seven  months  since  he  was 
here  last,"  said  Annesley.  "I  don't  think  Mrs. 
Ellsworth  has  heard  from  him.  She  hardly  ever  does 
until  a  day  or  two  before  he's  due  to  arrive;  neither 
do  his  cousins." 

"A  peculiar  fellow,  it  would  seem,"  remarked  her 
companion.  And  then,  out  of  a  plunge  into  thought, 
"You  say  you've  never  seen  the  Mr.  Smith  you  came 
to  meet  at  the  Savoy?  How  can  you  be  sure  it  isn't 
old  'R.  S.'  as  they  call  him  at  Van  Vreck's,  wanting 
to  play  you  a  trick — give  you  a  surprise?" 

Annesley  shook  her  head.  "If  you  knew  Mr. 
Ruthven  Smith,  you'd  know  that  would  be  impossible. 
Why,  I  don't  believe  he  remembers  when  I'm  out  of 
sight  that  I  exist." 

"Still  more  peculiar!  Miss  Grayle,  I  haven't  any 
right  to  ask  you  questions.  But  I  shouldn't  be  a 
man  if  I  weren't  forgetting  my  own  affairs — in— in 
curiosity,  if  you  want  to  call  it  that  (I  don't!),  about 
yours.  No!  I  won't  let  it  pass  for  ordinary  cu- 
riosity. Can't  you  understand  you're  doing  for  me 


30  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

more  than  any  woman  ever  has  done,  or  any  man 
would  do?  That  does  make  a  bond  between  us. 
You  can't  deny  it.  Tell  me  about  this  Mr.  Smith 
whom  you  don't  know  and  never  saw,  yet  came  to 
the  Savoy  Hotel  to  meet." 


CHAPTER  III 
WHY  SHE  CAME 

SURPRISED  by  the  abruptness  of  his  question,, 
Annesley's  eyes  dropped  from  the  eyes  of  her  host, 
which  tried  to  hold  them.  She  felt  that  she  ought 
to  be  angry  with  him  for  taking  advantage  of  her 
generosity — for  it  amounted  to  that!  Yet  anger 
would  not  come,  only  shame  and  the  desire  to  hide  a 
thing  which  would  change  his  gratitude  to  contempt. 

"Don't  let's  waste  time  talking  about  me,"  she 
said.  "We  haven't  arranged " 

"We've  arranged  everything  as  well  as  we  can. 
For  the  rest,  I  must  trust  to  luck — and  you.  Do  tell 
me  why  you  came  here,  why  you  thought  you  came 
here,  I  mean;  for  I'm  convinced  you  were  sent  for 
my  sake  by  any  higher  powers  there  may  be.  I  felt 
that,  the  minute  I  saw  you.  I  feel  it  ten  times  more 
strongly  now.  I  know  that  whatever  your  reason 
was,  it's  nothing  to  be  ashamed  of." 

"I  am  ashamed,"  Annesley  was  led  on  to  confess. 
"You'd  despise  me  if  I  told  you,  for  you  can't  realize 
what  my  life's  been  for  five  years.  And  that's  my 
one  excuse." 

"Only  a  fool  would  want  a  woman  like  you  to  ex- 
cuse herself  for  anything.  I  swear  I  wouldn't  de- 

31 


32  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

spise  you.  I  couldn't.  If  you  should  tell  me — 
knowing  you  as  little,  or  as  well,  as  I  do,  that  you'd 
been  plotting  a  murder,  I'd  be  certain  you  were  justi- 
fied, and  my  first  thought  would  be  to  save  you,  as 
you're  saving  me  now." 

Annesley  felt  again  the  man's  intense  magnetism. 
Suddenly  she  wanted  to  tell  him  everything.  It 
would  be  a  relief.  She  would  watch  his  face  and  see 
how  it  changed.  It  would  be  like  having  the  ver- 
dict of  the  world  on  what  she  had  done — or  meant  to 
do. 

"I  saw  an  advertisement  in  the  Morning  Post" 
she  said  with  a  kind  of  breathless  violence,  "from  a 
man  who — who  wanted  to  meet  a  girl  with — a  'view 
to  marriage."1 

The  words  brought  a  blush  so  painful  that  the 
mounting  blood  forced  tears  to  her  eyes.  But  she 
looked  her  vis-a-vis  unwaveringly  in  the  face. 

That  did  not  change  at  all,  unless  the  interest  in  his 
eyes  grew  warmer.  The  sympathy  she  saw  there 
gave  Annesley  a  new  and  passionate  desire  to  defend 
herself.  If  he  had  shown  disgust,  she  would  not 
have  cared  to  try,  she  thought. 

"I  told  you  it  was  horrid,  and  not  interesting  or 
romantic,"  she  dashed  on.  "But  I  was  desperate. 
Mrs.  Ellsworth  is  awful!  I  don't  suppose  you  ever 
met  such  a  woman.  She's  not  cruel  about  starving 
my  body.  It's  only  my  soul  she  starves.  What 
business  have  I  with  a  soul,  except  in  church,  where 
it's  proper  to  think  about  such  things?  But  she 
nags — nags  !  She  makes  my  hair  feel  as  if  it  were 


WHY  SHE  CAME  33 

turning  gray  at  the  roots,  and  my  face  drying  up — 
like  an  apple. 

"I  wasn't  nineteen  when  I  came  to  her.  I'm 
twenty-three  now,  and  I  feel  old — desiccated,  thanks 
to  those  piling-up  hundreds  of  days  with  her. 
They've  killed  my  spirit.  I  used  to  be  different. 
I  can  feel  it.  I  can  see  it  in  the  mirror.  It  isn't 
only  the  passing  days,  but  having  nothing  better  to 
look  forward  to.  I'm  too  cowardly — or  too  religious 
or  something,  to  kill  myself,  even  if  I  knew  how  to, 
decently.  But  the  deadliness  of  it  all,  the  airlessness 
of  her  house  and  her  heart ! 

"A  man  couldn't  imagine  it.  She's  made  me  for- 
get not  only  my  own  youth,  but  that  there's  youth 
in  the  world.  Why,  at  first  I  was  so  wild  I  should 
have  loved  to  say  dreadful  things,  or  strike  her.  But 
now  I  haven't  the  spirit  left  to  feel  like  that.  My 
blood's  turning  white.  The  other  day  when  I  was 
reading  aloud  to  Mrs.  Ellsworth  (I  read  a  lot:  the 
stupidest  parts  of  the  papers  and  the  silliest  books, 
that  turn  my  brain  to  fluff)  I  caught  sight  of  an  ad- 
vertisement in  the  Personal  Column. 

"I  stopped  just  in  time  and  didn't  read  it  out. 
Only  a  glimpse  I  had,  for  I  was  in  the  midst  of  some- 
thing else  when  my  eyes  wandered.  But  when  Mrs. 
Ellsworth  was  taking  her  nap  after  luncheon  I  got 
the  Post  again  and  read  the  advertisement  through 
carefully.  The  reason  I  was  interested  was  because 
even  the  glance  I  took  showed  that  the  girl  who  was 
'wanted'  seemed  in  some  ways  rather  like  me.  The 
advertisement  said  she  must  be  from  twenty-one  to 


34  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

twenty-six;  needn't  be  a  beauty,  but  of  pleasant 
appearance;  money  no  object;  the  essentials  were  that 
she  must  have  a  fair  education  and  be  of  good  birth 
and  manners,  so  as  to  command  a  certain  position  in 
society. 

"I  believe  those  were  the  very  words.  And  it 
didn't  seem  too  conceited  to  think  that  I  answered 
the  description.  I'm  not  bad-looking,  and  my 
mother's  father  was  an  earl — an  Irish  one.  I  couldn't 
get  the  advertisement  out  of  my  head.  It  fascinated 
me." 

"No  wonder!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Smith.  He  had 
been  listening  intently,  and  though  she  had  paused, 
panting  a  little,  more  than  once,  he  had  not  broken 
in  with  a  word. 

"Do  you  honestly  think  it  no  wonder?"  Annesley 
flashed  at  him. 

"It  was  like  a  prisoner  seeing  a  key  sticking  in  a 
door  that  has  always  been  locked,"  he  said. 

"  How  strange  you  should  think  of  that ! "  she  cried. 
"It  was  the  thought  which  came  into  my  mind,  and 
seemed  to  excuse  me  if  anything  could."  Annesley 
felt  grateful  to  the  man.  She  was  sure  she  could 
never  have  explained  herself  in  this  way  or  pleaded 
her  own  cause  with  the  real  Mr.  Smith.  A  man  cold- 
blooded enough  to  advertise  for  a  wife  "  well-born  and 
able  to  command  a  certain  position  in  society" 
would  have  frozen  her  into  an  ice-block  of  reserve. 

She  might  possibly  have  accepted  his  "proposi- 
tion" (one  couldn't  speak  of  it  in  the  ordinary  way 
as  a  "proposal "),  provided  that,  on  seeing  her,  he  had 


WHY  SHE  CAME  35 

judged  her  suitable  for  the  place;  but  she  could  never 
have  talked  her  heart  out  to  him  as  she  was  led  on 
to  do  by  this  other  man,  equally  a  stranger,  yet 
sympathetic  because  of  his  own  trouble  and  the 
mystery  which  made  of  him  a  figure  of  romance. 

"It  isn't  strange  I  should  think  of  the  prison  door 
and  the  key,"  her  companion  said.  "That  was  the 
situation.  'N.  Smith'  was  rather  clever  in  his  way. 
There  must  be  many  girls  of  good  family  and  good 
looks  who  are  in  prison,  pining  to  escape.  He  must 
have  had  a  lot  of  answers,  that  fellow;  but  none  of 
the  girls  could  have  come  within  a  mile  of  you.  I'm 
selfish!  I  bless  my  lucky  stars  he  didn't  turn  up 
here." 

"I  dare  say  it's  the  best  thing  that  could  happen," 
Annesley  agreed  with  a  sigh.  "Probably  he's  horri- 
ble. But  there  was  one  thing:  I  thought,  though  he 
must  be  a  snob  and  vulgar,  advertising  as  he  did  for  a 
wife  of  good  birth,  that  very  thing  looked  as  if  he 
were  no  worse  than  a  snob.  Not  a  villain,  I  mean. 
Otherwise,  I  shouldn't  have  dared  answer.  But  I 
did  answer  the  same  day,  while  I  had  the  courage. 
I  posted  a  letter  with  some  of  Mrs.  Ellsworth's, 
which  she  sent  me  out  to  drop  into  the  box.  His 
address  was  'N.  S.,  the  Morning  Posf ;  and  I  told 
him  to  send  a  reply,  if  he  wrote,  to  the  stationery 
shop  and  library  where  Mrs.  Ellsworth  makes  me 
go  every  day  to  change  her  books." 

"And  the  answer?  What  was  it  like?  What  im- 
pression did  it  give* you?"  questioned  the  man  who 
sat  in  Mr.  Smith's  place 


36  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

"Oh,  it  was  written  in  a  good  hand.  But  it  was  a 
stiff,  commonplace  sort  of  letter,  except  that  it  asked 
me  to  wear  a  white  rose.  White  roses  happen  to  be 
the  ones  I  like  best." 

"So  do  I,"  said  Mr.  Smith.  "Did  he  tell  you  to 
come  to  a  table  here  and  wait  for  him?" 

"Not  exactly.  He  was  to  meet  me  in  the  foyer. 
But  if  he  did  not,  I  was  to  understand  he'd  been  de- 
layed; and  in  that  case  I  must  come  to  the  restaurant 
and  inquire  for  a  table  engaged  by  Mr.  N.  Smith. 
Lots  of  times  I  decided  not  to  do  anything.  But 
you  see  I  came,  and  this  is  my  reward." 

"A  poor  one,"  her  companion  finished. 

"  I  don't  mean  that !  I  mean  he  hasn't  come  at  all. 
Maybe  he  never  meant  to.  Maybe  he  got  some 
letter  he  liked  better  than  mine,  and  arranged  to  meet 
the  girl  somewhere  else.  A  man  of  that  sort  wouldn't 
write  to  tell  the  straight  truth  in  time,  and  save  the 
unwanted  one  from  humiliation." 

"Are  you  very  sorry  he  didn't?" 

"No,"  Annesley  said,  frankly.  "I'm  not  sorry. 
It's  good  to  be  able  to  help  someone.  I'm  glad  I 
came." 

"So  am  I,"  Mr.  Smith  answered  with  a  sudden 
change  in  his  voice  from  calm  to  excitement.  "And 
now  the  moment  isn't  far  off,  I  think,  for  the  help 
to  be  given.  The  men  I  spoke  of  are  here.  They're 
hi  the  restaurant.  You  can't  see  them  without  turn- 
nig  your  head,  which  would  not  be  wise.  They're 
speaking  to  a  waiter.  They  haven't  seen  me  yet, 
but  they're  sure  to  look  soon.  They're  pointing  t<7 


WHY  SHE  CAME  37 

a  table  near  us.  It's  free.  The  waiter's  leading 
them  to  it.  In  an  instant  you'll  have  a  better  view 
of  them  than  I  shall.  Now  .  .  .  but  don't  look 
up  yet." 

From  under  her  lashes  Annesley  saw — in  the  way 
women  do  see  without  seeming  to  use  their  eyes — 
two  men  conducted  to  a  table  directly  in  front  of  her. 
As  she  sat  on  her  host's  right,  at  the  end  of  the  table, 
not  opposite  to  him,  this  gave  her  the  advantage — or 
disadvantage — of  facing  the  newcomers  fully,  while 
Mr.  Smith,  who  had  faced  them  as  they  entered, 
would  have  his  profile  turned  toward  their  table. 

The  pair  seated  themselves  in  the  same  way  that 
Annesley  and  her  companion  were  placed,  one  at  the 
right  hand  of  the  other.  This  caused  the  first  man 
to  face  the  girl  fully  and  gave  her  the  second  in 
profile.  One  table  only  intervened  between  Mr. 
Smith's  and  that  selected  by  the  late  arrivals,  and 
the  latter  had  hardly  sat  down  when  the  party  of  four 
at  the  intermediate  table  rose  to  go. 

Under  cover  of  their  departure,  bowing  of  waiters 
and  readjustment  of  ladies'  sable  or  ermine  stoles, 
Annesley  ventured  a  lightning  glance  at  the  men. 
She  saw  that  both  were  black-haired  and  black- 
bearded,  with  dark  skins  and  long  noses.  There  was 
a  slight  suggestion  of  resemblance  between  them. 
They  might  be  brothers.  They  were  in  evening 
dress,  but  did  not  look,  Annesley  thought,  like  gen- 
tlemen. 

Mr.  Smith  was  eating  blennes  au  caviar  apparently 
with  enjoyment.  He  called  a  waiter  and  told  him 


38  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

to  put  more  whipped  cream  on  the  caviare  as  yet 
untouched  in  the  middle  of  Annesley's  pancake. 

"That's  better,  I  think,"  he  said,  genially.  And 
as  the  waiter  went  away,  "What  are  they  doing 
now?" 

Annesley  lifted  her  champagne  glass  as  an  excuse 
to  raise  her  eyes.  "I'm  afraid  they've  seen  us  and 
are  talking  about  you.  Can't  we — hadn't  we  better 
go?" 

"Certainly  not,"  replied  Mr.  Smith.  "At  least, 
I  can't.  But  if  you  repent " 

"I  don't,"  Annesley  broke  in.  "I  was  thinking  of 
you,  of  course." 

"Bless  you!"  said  her  host.  His  tone  was  sud- 
denly gay.  She  glanced  at  him  and  saw  that  his  face 
was  gay  also,  his  eyes  bright  and  challenging,  his 
look  almost  boyish.  She  had  taken  him  for  thirty  - 
three  or  four;  now  she  would  have  guessed  him 
younger. 

Annesley  could  not  help  admiring  his  pluck,  for 
he  had  said  that  the  arrival  of  these  men  meant 
danger.  She  ought  to  be  sorry  as  well  as  frightened 
because  they  had  come,  but  at  that  moment  she  was 
neither.  Her  companion's  example  was  contagious. 
Her  spirits  rose.  And  the  thought  flashed  through 
her  head,  "This  adventure  won't  end  here!"  If  she 
had  had  time  she  would  have  been  ashamed  of  her 
gladness;  but  there  was  no  time.  Smith  was  talking 
again  in  a  suppressed  yet  cheerful  tone. 

"You  won't  forget  that  we're  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Nelson 
Smith?" 


WHY  SHE  CAME  39 

"No— no.     I  sha'n't  forget." 

"You  may  have  to  call  me  Nelson,  and  I — to  call 
you  Annesley.  It's  a  pretty  name,  odd  for  a  woman 
to  have.  How  did  you  get  it?" 

"Oh,  you  don't  want  to  hear  that  now!" 

"Why  not? — unless  you'd  rather  not  tell  me.  We 
can't  do  anything  more  till  the  blow  falls,  except 
enjoy  ourselves  and  go  on  with  our  dinner.  How 
did  you  come  to  be  Annesley?" 

"It  was  part  of  my  mother's  maiden  name.  She 
was  an  Annesley-Seton." 

"There's  a  Lord  Annesley-Seton,  isn't  there?" 

"Yes." 

"Related  to  you?" 

"A  cousin.  But  Grayle  isn't  a  name  in  their  set. 
He  and  his  wife  have  forgotten  my  existence.  I'm 
not  likely  to  remind  them  of  it." 

"His  wife  was  an  American  girl,  wasn't  she?" 

"How  odd  that  you  should  know!" 

"Not  very.  I  remember  there  being  a  lot  in  the 
papers  about  the  wedding  six  or  seven  years  ago. 
The  girl  was  very  rich — a  Miss  Haverstall.  Her 
father's  lost  his  money  since  then." 

"How  can  you  keep  such  uninteresting  things  in 
your  mind — just  now?" 

"They're  not  uninteresting.     They  concern  you!" 

"Lord  Annesley-Seton's  affairs  don't  concern  me, 
and  never  will." 

"I  wonder?"  said  Smith,  looking  thoughtful;  and 
the  girl  wondered,  too:  not  about  her  future  or  her 
relatives,  but  what  the  next  few  minutes  would  do 


40  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

with  this  strange  young  man,  and  how  at  such  a  time 
he  could  bear  to  talk  commonplaces. 

"If  you're  trying  to  keep  me  from  being  nervous," 
she  whispered,  "it's  not  a  bit  of  use!  I  can't  think  of 
anything  or  any  one  except  those  men.  They've 
stopped  whispering.  But  they're  looking  at  you. 
Now — they're  getting  up.  They're  coining  toward 
us!" 


CHAPTER  IV 
THE  GREAT  MOMENT 

THE  men  were  staring  so  keenly  at  "Mr.  N. 
Smith"  that  it  seemed  to  Annesley  he  must  feel  the 
stab  of  eyes,  sharp  as  pin-pricks,  in  his  back.  He  had 
the  self-control,  however,  not  to  look  round,  not 
even  to  change  expression.  No  man  in  the  restaur- 
ant appeared  more  calmly  at  ease  than  he. 

The  couple  had  accompanied  their  stare  with  eager 
whisperings.  Then,  as  if  on  some  hasty  decision, 
they  pushed  back  their  chairs  and  got  up.  Taking  a 
few  steps  they  separated,  approaching  Smith  on 
right  and  left.  One,  therefore,  stood  between  him 
and  Annesley  as  if  to  prevent  an  exchange  of  words 
or  glances.  There  was  something  Eastern  and  oddly 
alien  about  them  in  spite  of  their  conventional 
clothes. 

"Mr.  Michael  Varcoe!"  said  the  bigger  and  older, 
he  who  stood  on  the  left  of  Smith.  The  other  kept  in 
the  background,  not  to  crowd  with  conspicuous  rude- 
ness between  Annesley  and  her  host.  The  man  who 
-spoke  had  a  thick  voice  and  a  curious  accent  which 
the  girl,  with  her  small  experience,  was  unable  to  place. 

"No,"  answered  "Smith,"  in  a  puzzled  tone. 
"You  mistake  me  for  someone  else." 

41 


42  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

"I  think  not/'  insisted  the  bearded  man,  in  a 
hostile  drawl.  "I  think  not!" 

"I'm  sure  not,"  echoed  the  other.  "You  are 
Michael  Varcoe.  There's  no  getting  away  from 
that." 

The  emphasis  seemed  to  add,  "And  no  getting 
away  from  us." 

Excitement  stirred  Annesley  to  courage.  "Why, 
how  horrid!"  she  exclaimed,  bending  past  the  human 
obstacle;  "  people  taking  you  for  some  foreigner !  I'm 
sure  you  can't  be  like  a  man  with  such  a  name  as — 
Michael  Varcoe!  Tell  them  who  we  are." 

"My  name  is  Nelson  Smith,"  said  her  official 
husband.  "My  wife  is  not— 

"Your  wife!"  repeated  the  man  standing  opposite 
Annesley.  He  stared  with  insolent  incredulity. 
*"Mr.  and  Mrs.  Nelson  Smith.'  A  good  name  to 
take." 

"It  happens  to  have  been  given  me."  Slight 
sharpness  broke  the  tolerance  of  Smith's  tone. 

"I  don't  believe  you!"  exclaimed  the  other. 

Smith's  black  brows  drew  together.  "It  doesn't 
matter  whether  you  believe  or  not,"  he  said.  "What 
does  matter  is  that  you  should  annoy  us.  I  tell  you 
I'm  not  Michael  Varcoe,  and  never  heard  the  name. 
If  you're  not  satisfied,  and  if  you  don't  go  back  to 
your  dinner  and  let  us  finish  ours  in  peace,  I'll  appeal 
to  the  management." 

"Well!"  grumbled  the  taller  of  the  pair.  "If 
you're  not  the  man  I  want,  you're  his  image — minus 
moustache  and  beard.  You  must  be  Varcoe!" 


THE  GREAT  MOMENT  43 

"Of  course  he's  Varcoe,"  insisted  the  other. 

"Of  course  he's  not!"  said  Annesley,  with  just  the 
right  amount  of  irritation.  "  Our  name  is  Smith.  Nel- 
son, do  tell  this — person  to  ask  the  head-waiter  who 
engaged  the  table,  and  not  stay  here  making  a  fuss." 

"Anybody  can  engage  a  table  in  the  name  of 
Smith ! "  sneered  the  first  speaker.  "  That  is  nothing. 
We  go  by  something  more  convincing  than  a  name. 
There  are  countries  where  men  have  been  arrested 
on  less  resemblance — or  put  out  of  the  way." 

"Oh,  Nelson,  he's  frightening  me,"  faltered  An- 
nesley. "He  must  have  lost  his  senses." 

"You  think  that,  do  you?"  The  fierce  eyes  fixed 
her  with  a  stare.  "You  tell  me — you,  madame,  that 
you  are  this  man's  wife?" 

"I  do  tell  you  so,"  the  girl  replied,  firmly,  "though 
I  don't  see  that  it's  your  affair !  Now  go  away." 

"Very  well,  we  take  your  word,"  returned  the  man, 
hi  a  tone  which  said  that  he  did  nothing  of  the  sort. 
"And  we  go — back  to  our  table,  to  let  you  finish 
your  meal,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Smith." 

His  black  glance  sprang  like  a  tarantula  from  her 
face  to  her  companion's,  then  to  his  friend's.  The 
latter  accepted  the  ultimatum  and  followed  in  sulky 
silence;  but  when  the  pair  were  seated  at  their  own 
table,  though  they  ordered  food  and  wine,  their  at- 
tention was  still  for  the  alleged  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Smith. 

Annesley  tried  to  ignore  the  fact  that  they  stared 
without  ceasing,  but  she  could  not  help  being  aware 
of  their  eyes.  She  felt  faint,  and  everything  in  the 
room  whirled  giddily. 


44  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

"Drink  some  champagne,"  said  Smith's  quiet 
voice. 

The  girl  obeyed,  and  the  ice-cold  wine  cooled  the 
fire  in  blood  and  nerves. 

"You  have  been  splendid,"  Smith  encouraged  her. 
"I  know  you  won't  fail  me  now." 

"I  promise  you  I  will  not!"  returned  Annesley. 
"The  worst  is  over.  I  feel  ready  for  anything." 

"How  can  I  thank  you?"  he  murmured.  "If  I 
had  all  the  rest  of  my  life  to  do  it  in,  instead  of  a  few 
minutes,  it  wouldn't  be  too  much.  You  were  perfect 
in  your  manner,  not  anxious,  only  annoyed;  just  the 
right  air  for  a  self-respecting  Mrs.  Smith." 

They  both  laughed,  and  Annesley  was  surprised 
that  she  could  laugh  naturally  and  gaily.  Presently 
she  laughed  again,  when  Mr.  Smith  remarked  that 
she  had  missed  her  vocation  in  not  being  an  actress — • 
she,  the  country  mouse,  who  had  hardly  been  inside 
a  theatre. 

The  two  lingered  over  their  dinner,  watched  with 
impatience  by  the  men  at  the  other  table,  who  had 
ordered  only  one  dish  and  paid  for  it  immediately, 
that  they  might  be  ready  for  anything  at  an  in- 
stant's notice.  They  had  also  a  small  bottle  of  wine, 
which  they  sipped  abstemiously  as  an  excuse  to  re- 
main after  their  food  had  been  eaten. 

When  at  last  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Smith  had  finished  their 
bombe  surprise,  and  trifled  with  some  fruit,  Annesley 
said:  "Evidently  they  don't  care  how  long  they  have 
to  wait!  I  suppose  there's  nothing  for  us  to  do  but 
to  go?" 


THE  GREAT  MOMENT  45 

"Oh,  yes,  there's  still  something,"  said  Smith. 
"We'll  have  coffee  in  the  foyer,  and  see  what  the 
enemy's  next  move  is.  It  would  be  a  mistake  to  let 
the  brutes  believe  they're  frightening  us." 

Annesley  agreed  in  silence;  but  in  her  heart  she  was 
glad  to  lengthen  out  the  adventure.  Soon  she  would 
have  to  creep  back  to  her  dull  modern  substitute  for 
a  moated  grange,  and  after  that — not  "the  deluge"; 
nothing  so  exciting:  extinction. 

As  they  walked  out  of  the  restaurant  together  the 
girl  glanced  up  at  the  dark  profile,  mysterious  as  a 
stranger's,  yet  familiar  as  a  friend's.  The  man  had 
told  her  nothing  about  himself  except  that  he  was  in 
danger,  and  had  given  no  hint  as  to  what  that  danger 
was;  but  the  girl's  heart  was  warm  with  belief  in  him. 
If  there  were  a  question  of  crime,  the  crime  was  not 
his.  His  superiority  over  those  creatures  must  be 
moral  as  well  as  physical  and  social. 

By  an  odd  coincidence,  Mr.  Smith  steered  for  the 
sofa  hi  the  corner  whence  a  man  had  stared  from  be- 
hind an  open  newspaper  at  a  tall,  lonely  girl  in  gray, 
earlier  hi  the  evening.  Annesley  knew  nothing  of 
this  coincidence,  because  she  had  not  noticed  the 
man;  but  even  if  she  had,  she  would  have  forgotten 
him.  She  had  been  thinking  of  herself  when  she 
first  trailed  her  gray  dress  over  the  red  carpet  of 
the  foyer;  now,  returning,  she  thought  of  the  man 
who  was  with  her  and  the  two  who  were  certain  to 
follow. 

Scarcely  were  she  and  Smith  seated  before  the 
others  appeared.  The  men  sat  down  in  chairs  drawn 


46  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

up  at  a  little  table;  and  not  only  must  those  in  the 
corner  pass  by  them  in  escaping,  but  every  word 
spoken  above  a  whisper  must  be  overheard. 

This  fact  did  not  embarrass  Smith.  He  ordered 
coffee  and  cigarettes,  and  talked  to  Annesley  in  an 
ordinary  tone  about  a  motor  trip  which  it  would  be 
pleasant  to  take.  The  watchers  also  demanded 
coffee.  But  the  waiter  they  summoned  was  slow  in 
fulfilling  their  order.  When  it  was  obeyed,  before 
the  pair  had  time  to  lift  cup  to  lip,  Mr.  Smith  took 
impish  pleasure  in  getting  to  his  feet. 

"  Come,  dear,"  he  said,  "  we'd  better  be  off." 

He  laid  on  the  table  money  for  the  coffee  and  ciga- 
rettes, with  a  satisfactory  tip.  Then  without  looking 
at  their  neighbours  he  and  Annesley  passed,  walking 
shoulder  to  shoulder  with  a  leisurely  step  toward  the 
entrance. 

"I  suppose  there's  no  chance  of  shaking  them  off  ? " 
the  girl  whispered. 

"None  whatever,"  said  Smith.  "But  we've  had 
the  fun  of  cheating  them  out  of  their  coffee,  because 
they  won't  chance  our  stopping  to  pick  up  our  wraps. 
They'll  be  on  our  heels  till  the  end  of  the  journey,  so 
there's  nothing  for  it  except  to  stick  to  the  original 
plan  of  my  going  home  with  you.  I  hope  you  don't 
mind?  I  hope  you're  not  afraid  of  me  now?  " 

"I'm  not  at  all  afraid,"  said  Annesley. 

"Thank  you  for  that.  If  our  taxi  outruns  theirs, 
I  sha'n't  need  to  trespass  on  your  kindness  beyond  the 
doorstep.  But  if  they  overtake  us,  and  are  on  the 
spot  before  you  can  vanish  into  the  house  and  I  can 


THE  GREAT  MOMENT  47 

disappear  in  some  other  direction,  are  you  still  game 
to  keep  your  promise — the  promise  to  let  me  go  in- 
doors with  you?" 

"Yes,  I  am  'game'  to  the  end — whatever  the  end 
may  be,"  the  girl  answered;  and  she  wondered  at 
herself,  because  her  heart  was  as  brave  as  her  words. 

Five  minutes  later  Annesley,  wrapped  in  her  thin 
cloak,  was  stepping  into  a  taxi.  As  Smith  followed 
and  told  the  chauffeur  where  to  drive,  the  two  watch- 
ers shot  through  the  revolving  door  in  time  to  over- 
hear, and  also  to  order  a  taxi. 

Annesley  wondered  for  one  dismayed  instant  why 
her  companion  should  have  given  the  real  address. 
He  might  have  mentioned  some  other  street,  and 
thus  have  gained  time;  but  a  second  thought  told  her 
that,  with  the  pursuing  taxi  so  close  upon  their  heels, 
an  attempt  to  deceive  would  have  been  useless.  The 
policy  of  defiance  was  the  only  one. 

For  a  few  moments  neither  the  girl  nor  the  man 
spoke,  although  Annesley  felt  that  there  were  a  thou- 
sand things  to  say.  Every  second  was  taking  them 
nearer  to  Torrington  Square;  and  their  parting  must 
come  soon.  After  that,  all  would  be  blankness  for  her, 
as  before  this  wonderful  night. 

Such  thoughts  made  the  girl  a  prisoner  of  silence; 
and  "  Mr.  Smith  "  was  also  tongue-tied.  Was  he  con- 
centrating his  mind  upon  some  plan  of  escape  from 
these  mysterious  enemies?  She  told  herself  this 
must  be  so;  yet  his  first  words  proved  that  he  had 
been  thinking  of  the  risk  she  ran. 

"If  the  dragon  comes  out  of  her  den  and  catches 


48  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

us  at  the  door,  will  that  mean  a  catastrophe  for  you, 
or  can  I  be  explained  away?"  he  inquired. 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Annesley.  "And  somehow 
I  don't  care!" 

"I  care,"  the  man  replied.  "I  can't  have  harm 
come  to  you  through  me.  But  tell  me,  before  we  go 
farther — does  it  matter  to  you,  Miss  Grayle,  that  in 
a  little  while  you  and  I  may  see  the  last  of  each  other? 
I  feel  I  have  a  sort  of  right  to  ask  that  question,  be- 
cause it  matters  such  a  lot  to  me.  I've  got  to  know 
you  better  in  this  one  evening  than  I  could  in  a  year 
in  a  commonplace  way.  I  don't  want  you  to  go  out 
of  my  life,  because  you're  the  best  thing  that  ever 
came  into  it.  And  if  I  dared  hope  that  I  might 
mean  to  you  some  day  half  what  you've  begun  to 
mean  for  me  already,  why,  I  wouldn't  let  you  go ! " 

Annesley  clasped  her  hands  under  her  cloak.  They 
were  cold  yet  tingling.  Her  blood  was  leaping; 
but  she  could  not  speak.  She  was  afraid  of  saying 
too  much. 

"Can't  you  give  me  a  gram  of  hope?"  he  went  on. 
His  voice  was  wistful.  "  We  have  so  little  time." 

"What — do  you  want  me  to  say?"  Annesley  stam- 
mered. 

"I  want  you  to  say — that  you  don't  wish  to  see 
the  last  of  me  to-night." 

"I  shouldn't  be  human  if  I  could  wish  that!"  the 
words  seemed  to  speak  themselves;  and  she,  who  had 
been  taught  to  repress  and  hide  emotion  as  if  it  were 
a  vice,  was  glad  that  the  truth  was  out.  After  all 
they  had  gone  through  together  she  couldn't  send 


THE  GREAT  MOMENT  49 

this  man  away  believing  her  indifferent.  "I — it 
doesn't  seem  as  if  we  were  strangers,"  she  faltered  on. 

"Strangers!  I  should  think  not,"  he  echoed. 
"We  mayn't  know  much  about  each  other's  tastes, 
but  we  do  know  about  each  other's  souls,  which  is 
more  than  can  be  said  of  most  men  and  women  ac- 
quainted for  hah*  a  lifetime.  As  for  our  pasts,  you 
haven't  had  one,  and  I — well,  if  I  swear  to  you  that 
I've  never  murdered  anybody,  or  been  hi  prison,  or 
committed  an  unforgivable  crime,  will  you  take  my 
word?" 

"If  you  told  me  you  were  a  murderer,  or  had  com- 
mitted some  unforgivable  crime,  I — I  don't  feel  as  if  I 
could  believe  it,"  Annesley  assured  him.  "It — 
would  hurt  me  to  think  evil  of  you.  I'm  sure  it  isn't 
you  who  are  evil,  but  these  men." 

"You're  an  angel  to  feel  like  that  and  speak  like 
that!"  exclaimed  Smith.  "I  don't  deserve  your 
goodness,  but  I  appreciate  it.  I'd  like  to  take  your 
hand  and  kiss  it  when  I  thank  you,  but  I  won't,  be- 
cause you're  alone  with  me,  under  my  protection. 
To  save  me  from  trouble  you've  risked  danger  and 
put  yourself  in  my  power.  I  may  be  bad  in  some 
ways — most  men  are,  or  would  be  in  women's  eyes  if 
women  saw  them  as  they  are;  but  I'm  not  a  brute. 
The  worst  I've  ever  done  is  to  try  to  pay  back  a  great 
injury,  an  eye  for  an  eye,  a  tooth  for  a  tooth.  Do 
you  blame  me  for  that?" 

"I  have  no  right — I  don't  know  what  the  mjury 
was,"  said  the  girl;  and,  hesitating  a  little,  "still — I 
don't  think  /  could  find  happiness  in  revenge.'* 


50  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

"I  could,  or  anyhow,  satisfaction:  I  confess  tkat. 
About  'happiness,'  I  don't  know  much.  But  you 
could  teach  me." 

"I?" 

"Yes.  Do  you  believe  there  can  be  such  a  thing 
as  love  at  first  sight?" 

"I  can't  tell.     Books  say  so.     Perhaps — 

"There's  no  'perhaps.'  I've  found  that  out  to- 
night. I  believe  love  that  comes  at  sight  must  be 
the  only  real  love — a  sort  of  electric  call  from  soul  to 
soul.  The  thing  that's  happened  is  just  this:  I've 
met  the  one  woman — my  helpmate.  If  I  come  out  of 
this  trouble,  and  can  ask  a  girl  like  you  to  give  herself 
to  me,  will  you  do  it?" 

"Oh,  you  say  this  because  you  think  you  ought  to 
be  grateful!"  cried  Annesley.  "But  I  don't  want 
gratitude.  This  is  the  first  time  I've  ever  lived. 
I  owe  that  to  you.  And  it's  more  than  you  can  owe 
to  me." 

The  man  laughed,  a  happy  laugh,  as  though  danger 
were  miles  away  instead  of  on  his  heels.  "You* 
know  almost  as  much  about  men  as  a  child  knows, 
Miss  Grayle,"  he  said,  "if  you  think  I'm  one  of  the 
sort — if  there  is  such  a  sort — who  would  tie  himself 
to  a  woman  for  gratitude.  I've  just  one  motive  in 
wanting  you  to  marry  me.  I  love  you  and  need  you. 
I  couldn't  feel  more  if  I'd  known  you  months  instead 
of  hours." 

The  wonder  of  it  swept  over  Annesley  in  a  flood. 
Even  in  her  dreams — and  she  had  had  wild  dreams 
sometimes — she  had  never  pictured  a  man  such  as 


THE  GREAT  MOMENT  51 

this  loving  her  and  wanting  her.  To  the  girl's  mind 
he  was  so  attractive  that  it  seemed  impossible  his 
choice  of  her  could  be  from  the  heart.  She  would 
wake  up  to  a  stale,  flat  to-morrow  and  find  that  none 
of  these  things  had  really  happened. 

Still,  she  might  as  well  live  up  to  the  dream  while  it 
lasted,  and  have  the  more  to  remember. 

"It's  a  fairy  story,  surely!"  she  said,  trying  to 
laugh.  "There  are  so  many  beautiful  girls  in  the 
world  for  a  man  like  you,  that  I — 

"A  man  like  me!    What  am  I  like?" 

"Oh,  it's  hard  to  put  into  words.  But — well, 
you're  brave;  I'm  sure  of  that." 

"I  hope  I'm  not  a  coward.  All  normal  men  are 
brave.  That's  nothing.  What  else  am  I — to  you?" 

"Interesting.  More  interesting  than — than  any 
one  I  ever  saw." 

"If  you  feel  that,  you  don't  want  to  send  me  out 
of  your  life,  do  you? — after  you've  stood  by  and 
sheltered  me  from  danger?" 

"No-o.  I  don't  want  to  send  you  out  of  my  life. 
But " 

"There's  only  one  way  in  which  you  can  keep  me 
and  I  can  keep  you — circumstanced  as  we  are.  We 
must  be  husband  and  wife." 

"  Oh ! "  The  girl  covered  her  face  with  both  hands. 
The  world  was  on  fire  around  her. 

"I  frighten  you.  Yet  you  might  have  consented 
to  marry  that  other  Smith.  You  went  to  meet  him, 
to  decide  whether  he  was  possible." 

"I  know.     But  I  see  now,  if  he'd  kept  his  appoint- 


52  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

ment,  it  would  have  ended  in  nothing,  even  if — if  he 
had  been  pleased  with  me.  I  couldn't  have  brought 
myself  to  say  'yes>- " 

"How  can  you  be  certain?" 

"Because" — Annesley  spoke  almost  in  a  whisper — 
"because  he  wasn't  you." 

Smith  snatched  her  clasped  hands  and  kissed  them. 
The  warm  touch  of  the  man's  lips  gave  the  girl  a  new, 
mysterious  sensation.  No  man  had  ever  kissed  even 
her  hands.  Suddenly  she  felt  sure  that  what  she 
felt  must  be  love — love  at  first  sight,  which,  according 
to  him,  was  an  electric  call  from  soul  to  soul.  His 
kiss  told  her  that  they  belonged  to  each  other  for 
good  or  evil. 

"  Darling ! "  he  said.  "  You  are  mine.  I  sha'n't  let 
you  go.  For  love  of  you  I'll  free  myself  from  this 
temporary  trouble  I'm  in,  and  come  back  to  claim 
you  soon.  When  I  ask  you  to  be  my  wife  you'll  say 
to  me  what  you  wouldn't  have  said  to  the  other 
Smith?" 

"If  I  can  escape  to  hear  you.  But — you  don't 
know  Mrs.  Ellsworth." 

"  St.  George  rescued  the  princess  from  the  dragon : 
so  will  I,  though  I've  warned  you  I'm  no  saint.  When 
we  meet  again  I'll  tell  you  what  I  am,  and  perhaps 
my  real  name,  which  is  better  than 'Smith,  though 
it  mayn't  be  as  safe.  Now,  there  are  other  things 
to  say " 

But  there  was  no  time  to  say  them,  for  the  taxi 
stopped.  The  time  seemed  so  short  since  the  Savoy 
that  Annesley  couldn't  believe  they  were  in  Toning- 


THE  GREAT  MOMENT  53 

ton  Square.  Perhaps  the  chauffeur  had  made  a  mis- 
take? She  looked  out,  hoping  that  it  might  be  so; 
but  before  her  were  the  darkened  windows  of  the  dull, 
familiar  house,  22-A.  The  great  moment  was  upon 
them. 


CHAPTER  V 
THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

WITHOUT  another  word  Smith  opened  the  door  and 
sprang  out.  As  Annesley  put  her  hand  into  his  to 
descend  she  gave  him  the  latchkey.  It  had  been 
inside  the  neck  of  her  dress,  and  the  metal  was  warm 
from  the  warmth  of  her  heart. 

"Take  this,"  she  whispered.  "If  they  are  watch- 
ing, it  will  be  best  for  you  to  have  the  key." 

Mr.  Smith  bestowed  a  generous  tip  on  the  driver,  and 
was  rewarded  with  a  loud,  cheerful  "  Thank  you,  sir ! " 
which  must  have  reached  the  ears  of  a  chauffeur  in 
the  act  of  stopping  before  a  house  near  by.  Annesley, 
glancing  sidewise  at  the  other  taxi,  thought  that*  it 
drew  up  with  suspicious  suddenness,  as  if  it  had 
awaited  a  "cue." 

There  was  little  doubt  in  her  mind  as  to  who  the 
occupants  were,  and  her  heart  beat  fast,  though  she 
controlled  herself  to  walk  with  calmness  across  the 
strip  of  pavement.  On  the  doorstep  she  turned  to 
wait  for  her  companion,  and,  without  seeming  to  look 
past  him,  saw  that  no  one  got  out  from  the  neigh- 
bouring taxi. 

"They  don't  care  whether  we  guess  who  they  are 
or  not,"  was  her  thought.  "They  mean  to  find  out 

54 


THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY  55 

whether  we  have  a  latchkey  and  can  let  ourselves  into 
a  house  in  this  square.  When  they  see  us  go  in,  will 
they  believe  the  story  and  drive  away,  or — will  they 
stay  on?" 

What  would  happen  if  the  watchers  persisted 
Annesley  dared  not  think;  but  she  knew  that  she 
would  sacrifice  herself  in  any  way  rather  than  send 
the  man  she  loved  (yes,  she  did  love  him!)out  to  face 
peril. 

Having  paid  the  chauffeur,  Mr.  N.  Smith  joined 
the  figure  on  the  doorstep,  and  fitted  into  the  lock 
Annesley's  latchkey.  Then  he  opened  the  door  for 
the  girl,  and  followed  her  in  with  a  cool  air  of  pro- 
prietorship which  ought  to  have  impressed  the 
watchers.  A  minute  later,  if  another  proof  had  been 
needed  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Smith  were  actually  at 
home,  it  was  given  by  a  sudden  glow  of  red  curtains 
in  the  two  front  windows  of  the  ground  floor. 

This  touch  of  realism  meant  extra  risk  for  Annes- 
ley in  case  Mrs.  Ellsworth  were  awake;  but  she  took 
it  with  scarcely  a  qualm  of  fear.  The  house  was 
quiet,  and  there  were  ten  chances  to  one  against  its 
mistress  being  on  the  alert  at  this  hour,  so  long  past 
her  bedtime. 

When  the  girl  had  switched  on  the  lights  of  the 
two-branched  chandelier  over  the  dining  table  she 
beckoned  to  her  companion,  who  noiselessly  followed 
her  from  the  dark  corridor  into  the  room.  There, 
with  one  sweeping  glance  at  the  dull  red  walls, 
the  oil-painted  landscapes  in  sprawling  gilt  frames, 
the  heavy  plush  curtains,  the  furniture  with  its 


56  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

"saddle-bag"  upholstery,  the  common  Turkish  car- 
pet, and  the  mantel  mirror  with  tasteless,  tasselled 
draperies,  "Nelson  Smith"  seemed  to  comprehend 
the  deadly  "stuffiness"  of  Annesley  Grayle's  ex- 
istence. 

The  look  of  Mrs.  Ellsworth's  middle-class  dining 
room,  and  the  atmosphere  whence  oxygen  had  been 
excluded,  were  enough  to  tell  him,  if  he  had  not  real- 
ized already,  why  the  lady's  companion  had  gone 
out  to  meet  a  strange  man  "  with  a  view  to  marriage." 

To  Annesley,  however,  for  the  first  time,  this 
room  was  neither  hideous  nor  depressing.  It  seemed 
years  since  she  had  seen  it.  She  was  a  different 
girl  from  the  spiritless  slave  who  had  crept  out  after 
luncheon,  in  the  wake  of  her  mistress:  that  short, 
shapeless  form  with  a  large  head  set  on  a  short  neck, 
and  a  trailing,  old-fashioned  dress  of  black. 

Now,  with  a  man  holding  her  hands  and  calling 
her  an  angel — a  "dear,  brave  angel!" — it  looked  to 
the  girl  a  beautiful  room.  There  was  glamour  upon 
it,  and  upon  the  rest  of  the  world.  Surely  life  could 
never  seem  commonplace  again ! 

"Ssh!"  Annesley  whispered.  "We  mustn't  wake 
Mrs.  Ellsworth,  or  she'll  run  to  the  front  door  in  her 
dressing  gown  and  call  'Police!'  She's  old,  but  her 
ears  are  sharp  as  a  cat's.  She  can  almost  hear  one 
thinking.  But  I'm  glad  she  can't  quite.  How  fright- 
ful if  she  could !" 

"Nothing  about  her  need  be  frightful  to  you  any 
more,"  said  the  man.  "You  have  saved  me.  Soon 
it  will  be  my  turn  to  rescue  you." 


THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY  57 

"  I  haven't  saved  you  yet,"  the  girl  reminded  him. 
"  They  are  sure  to  be  waiting  to  see  whether  you  come 
out.  But  I've  thought  of  one  more  thing  to  make 
them  believe  that  you  live  here.  I  can  steal  softly 
upstairs  to  the  front  room  on  the  second  floor,  above 
the  drawing  room — the  one  we  call  'Mr.  Smith's' — to 
turn  on  the  lights,  and  then  those  hateful  creatures 

will  think "  She  hesitated,  and  the  colour  sprang 

to  her  cheeks. 

"That  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Nelson  Smith  have  gone  to 
their  room,"  the  man  finished  her  sentence.  His 
eyes  beamed  love  and  gratitude,  a  glorious  reward. 
"You're  wonderful!  You  forget  nothing  that  can 
help.  Do  you  know,  your  trust,  your  faith  in  me,  in 
spite  of  appearances,  are  the  best  things  that  have 
come  into  my  life?  You  call  those  fellows  'hateful 
creatures,'  because  they're  my  enemies.  Yet,  for  all 
you  know,  they  may  be  injured  innocents  and  I  the 
'hateful*  one.  This  may  be  my  way  of  getting  into  a 
rich  old  woman's  house  to  steal  her  jewels  and  money 
— making  you  a  cat's  paw." 

"Don't!"  Annesley  cut  him  short.  "I  can't  bear 
to  hear  you  say  such  things.  I  trust  you  because — 
surely  a  woman  can  tell  by  instinct  which  men  to 
trust.  I  don't  need  proof." 

"By  Jove!"  he  exclaimed,  his  eyes  fixed  upon  her 
face.  "You  are  the  kind  of  girl  whose  faith  could 
turn  Lucifer  back  from  devil  into  archangel.  I — 
you're  a  million  times  too  good  for  me.  I  didn't  even 
want  to  meet  a  white  saint  like  you.  But  now  I 
have  met  you,  nothing  on  earth  is  going  to  make  me 


58  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

give  you  up,  if  you'll  stand  by  me.  I'm  unworthy, 
and  I  don't  expect  to  be  much  better.  But  there's 
one  thing:  I  can  give  you  a  gayer  life  than  here.  Per- 
haps I  can  even  make  you  happy,  if  you  don't  ask  for 
a  saint  to  match  yourself.  You  shall  have  my  love 
and  worship,  and  I'll  be  true  as  steel — 

"Oh,  listen!"  Annesley  broke  in.  "Don't  you 
hear  a  sound?" 

"Yes,"  he  said.     "A  door  creaked  somewhere." 

"Mrs.  Ellsworth's  bedroom  door.  What  shall  we 
do?  There's  just  the  short  passage  at  the  back,  and 
then  she'll  be  at  the  baize  door  that  opens  into  the 
front  corridor.  Quick!  You,  not  I,  must  go  up- 
stairs— to  that  second-floor  front  room  I  spoke  of. 
Hurry !  Before  she  gets  to  the  swing  door — 

Without  a  word  he  obeyed,  remembering  his  hat, 
which  he  had  laid  on  the  table.  One  step  took  him 
out  of  the  lighted  dining  room  into  the  dimness  be- 
yond. Another  step  and  he  was  on  the  staijjs.  There, 
for  the  moment  at  least,  he  was  safe  from  detection; 
for  the  staircase  faced  the  front  door,  and  Mrs.  Ells- 
worth must  approach  from  the  back.  She  would 
come  to  the  door  of  the  dining  room,  and,  expecting 
only  the  girl,  would  not  think  of  spying  at  the  foot  of 
the  stairs. 

Besides,  there  was  no  light  in  the  corridor  except 
that  which  streamed  through  the  reddish  globes  of  the 
chandelier  above  the  dining  table.  If  only  the  man 
did  not  stumble  on  his  way  up,  the  situation  might 
be  saved. 

He  was  alert,  deft,  quick-witted,  and  light  of  foot 


THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY  59 

as  a  panther.  Who  but  he  would  have  remembered 
at  such  a  moment  to  snatch  up  a  compromising  hat 
and  take  it  with  him? 

Annesley  stood  still,  rigid  in  every  muscle,  fighting 
to  control  her  heart-throbs,  that  she  might  be  ready 
to  answer  a  flood  of  questions.  She  dared  not  even 
let  her  thoughts  rush  ahead.  It  was  all  she  could  do 
to  face  the  present.  The  rest  must  take  care  of  itself. 

He  had  said  that  she  would  "make  a  good  actress." 
Now  was  the  moment  to  prove  that  he  had  judged 
her  truly!  She  began  to  unfasten  one  of  her  long 
gray  gloves.  A  button  was  loose.  She  must  give  it 
a  few  stitches  to-morrow.  Strange  that  there  should 
be  room  for  such  a  thought  in  her  mind.  But  she 
caught  at  it  gladly. 

It  calmed  her  as  she  heard  a  shuffling  tread  of 
slippered  feet  along  the  corridor;  and  she  forced  her- 
self not  to  look  up  until  she  was  conscious  that  a 
shapeless  figure  in  a  dressing  gown  filled  the  doorway, 
like  a  badly  painted  portrait  too  large  for  its  frame. 

"A  nice  time  of  night  for  you  to  be  back!"  barked 
the  bronchitic  voice  hoarsened  by  years  of  shut 
windows.  "Give  you  an  inch  and  you  take  an  ell! 
I  told  you  half -past  ten.  Here  it  is  eleven!" 

Annesley  looked  up  as  if  surprised.  "Oh,  Mrs. 
Ellsworth,  you  frightened  me!"  she  exclaimed.  "I 
was  delayed.  But  it  won't  be  eleven  for  ten  minutes. 
This  dining-room  clock  keeps  such  good  time,  you 
know.  And  I've  been  in  the  house  for  a  few  mo- 
ments. I  thought  I  came  so  softly!  I'm  sorry  I 
waked  you  up." 


60  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

"Waked  me  up!"  repeated  Mrs.  Ellsworth.  "I 
have  not  been  to  sleep.  I  never  can  close  my  eyes 
when  I  know  anybody  is  out  and  has  got  to  come 
back,  especially  a  careless  creature  as  likely  as  not 
to  leave  the  front  door  unlatched.  That's  why  I 
said  half -past  ten  at  latest/  If  I  don't  fall  asleep 
before  eleven  I  get  nervous  and  lose  my  night's  rest. 
You've  heard  me  say  that  twenty  times,  yet  you  have 
no  consideration!" 

"This  is  the  first  time  I've  been  out  late,"  Annes- 
ley  defended  herself.  As  she  spoke  she  looked  at 
Mrs.  Ellsworth  as  she  might  have  looked  at  a 
stranger. 

This  fat  old  woman,  with  hard  eyes,  low,  unintel- 
ligent forehead,  and  sneering  yet  self-indulgent 
mouth,  had  been  for  five  years  the  mistress  of  her  fate. 
The  slave  had  feared  to  speak  lest  she  should  say  the 
wrong  thing,  had  hesitated  before  taking  the  most 
insignificant  step,  knowing  that  Mrs.  ^Ellsworth's 
sharp  tongue  would  accuse  her  of  foolishness  or 
worse.  But  now  Annesley  wondered  at  her  bondage. 
If  only  the  man  upstairs  could  escape,  never  again 
would  she  be  afraid  of  this  old  tyrant. 

"You  don't  need  to  tell  me  how  long  you  have 
been  in,"  said  Mrs.  Ellsworth,  blissfully  ignorant 
that  the  iron  chain  was  broken,  and  enjoying  her 
power  to  wound.  "I've  been  sitting  up  watching 
the  clock.  My  fire's  nearly  out,  and  no  more  coals 
in  the  scuttle,  the  servants  all  three  snoring  while 
I  am  kept  up.  If  I'm  in  bed  with  a  cold  to-morrow  I 
shall  have  you  to  thank,  Miss  Grayle." 


THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY  61 

"I'll  get  you  some  more  coal  if  you  want  it,"  said 
Annesley.  "Hadn't  you  better  go  to  bed  now  I  am 
back?" 

"Not  till  I've  made  you  understand  that  this 
must  never  occur  again,"  insisted  the  old  woman. 
(Annesley  was  shocked  at  herself  for  daring  to  think 
that  the  unwieldy  bulk  in  the  gray  flannel  dressing 
gown  looked  like  a  hippopotamus.)  "  You  don't  seem 
to  realize  that  you've  done  anything  out  of  the  way. 
You're  as  calm  as  if  it  was  eight  o'clock.  Not  a  word 
of  regret!  Not  a  question  as  to  my  evening,  you're 
so  taken  up  with  yourself  and  your  smart  clothes — 
clothes  I  gave  you." 

"  I  haven't  had  much  chance  to  ask  questions,  have 
I?"  Annesley  ventured  to  remind  her  mistress. 
"Won't  you  tell  me  about  your  evening  when  you 
are  in  bed  and  I  have  made  up  your  fire?  You  say 
it  is  bad  for  you  to  stand." 

"I  say  so  because  it  is  the  truth,  and  doctor's 
orders,"  rapped  out  Mrs.  Ellsworth.  "I  thought 
I  had  been  upset  enough  for  one  evening,  but  this 
last  straw  had  to  be  added  to  my  burden." 

"Why,  what  can  have  upset  you?"  Annesley 
inquired,  more  for  the  sake  of  appearing  interested 
than  because  she  was  so.  But  the  look  on  her  mis- 
tress's face  told  her  that  something  really  had  hap- 
pened. 

"I  don't  care  to  be  kept  out  of  my  bed,  to  be 
catechized  by  you,"  returned  Mrs.  Ellsworth,  pleased 
that  she  had  aroused  curiosity  and  determined  not  to 
gratify  it.  "Turn  on  the  light  in  the  corridor  and 


62  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

give  me  your  arm.  My  rheumatism  is  very  bad, 
owing  to  the  chill  I  have  caught,  and  if  I  stumble  I 
may  be  laid  up  for  a  week." 

The  girl  proffered  a  slender  arm,  hoping  that  the 
pounding  of  her  heart  might  not  be  detected  by  Mrs. 
Ellsworth's  hand.  She  wished  that  she  could  have 
slipped  it  under  her  right  arm  instead  of  the  left,  but 
owing  to  Mrs.  Ellsworth's  position  in  the  doorway  it 
was  impossible  to  do  so,  except  by  pushing  her  aside. 

She  rejoiced,  however,  in  the  order  to  put  on  the 
light  in  the  corridor,  for  this  meant  that  after  settling 
her  mistress  in  bed  and  transferring  the  dining-room 
coal  scuttle  to  the  bedroom  she  must  return  to 
switch  the  electricity  off.  Then,  with  Mrs.  Ellsworth 
out  of  the  way,  she  could  help  the  man  upstairs  to 
escape,  if  the  watchers  had  abandoned  the  game. 

The  tyrant,  shuffling  along  in  heelless  woollen  slip- 
pers, made  the  most  of  her  infirmity,  *and  hung  on 
the  arm  of  her  tall  companion.  In  silence  they 
passed  through  the  baize  door  at  the  end  of  the  corri- 
dor, so  into  the  addition  at  the  back  of  the  house, 
which  contained  Mrs.  Ellsworth's  room  and  bath, 
with  another  small  room  suitable  for  a  maid,  and 
occupied  by  Annesley.  This  addition  had  been  built 
a  year  or  two  before  Annesley's  arrival,  and  saved 
Mrs.  Ellsworth  the  necessity  of  mounting  and  de- 
scending the  stairs,  as  she  used  the  dining  room  to  sit 
in  and  seldom  went  into  the  drawing  room  on  the 
floor  above.  Annesley  was  not  surprised  to  see  that 
the  fire  in  her  mistress's  room  was  still  a  bank  of 
glowing  coals,  for  one  of  Mrs.  Ellsworth's  pleasures 


THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY  63 

was  to  represent  herself  in  the  light  of  a  martyr.  The 
girl  made  no  remark,  however:  she  was  far  too  experi- 
enced for  such  mistakes  in  tact. 

Still  in  silence,  she  peeled  the  stout  figure  of  its 
dressing  gown  and  helped  it  into  a  short,  knitted  bed- 
jacket. 

"When  you  get  the  dining-room  scuttle,  put  out 
the  light  there  and  in  the  corridor,"  Mrs.  Ellsworth 
said.  "If  you  leave  this  door  open  you  can  see  your 
way  with  the  coals.  No  use  your  creaking  back 
and  forth  just  as  I've  settled  down  to  rest.  Besides, 
there's  somebody  else  to  think  of.  I  hope  he  hasn't 
been  disturbed  already!" 

"Somebody  else?"  echoed  the  girl  with  a  gasp. 
There  was  no  longer  any  fear  that  her  curiesity  had 
not  caught  fire.  Mrs.  Ellsworth  was  satisfied. 

"Yes,  somebody  else,"  she  condescended  to  repeat. 
"A  certain  person  has  come  since  you  went  out.  I 
suppose,  in  the  circumstances,  you  do  not  need  to  be 
told  who." 

"I — I  don't  know  what  you  mean  by  'in  the  cir- 
cumstances'," Annesley  stammered. 

"That's  not  intelligent  of  you,  considering  where 
you  have  spent  the  evening,"  sneered  Mrs.  Ells- 
worth. 

Annesley's  ears  tingled  as  if  they  had  been  boxed. 
Could  it  be  that  Mrs.  Ellsworth  knew  of  the  trick 
played  on  her — knew  that  her  companion  had  nof 
been  to  the  Smiths'? 

"I'm  afraid  I  don't  understand,"  she  deprecated. 

Mrs.   Ellsworth   sat  in   bed   staring  up   at  her. 


64  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

"Either  you  are  a  fool,"  she  said,  "or  else  I  have 
caught  you  or  him  in  a  lie.  I  don't  know  which  yet. 
But  I  soon  shall.  Perhaps  you  were  not  the  only 
person  in  this  house  who  went  out  to-night  with  a 
latchkey.  Now  do  you  guess?" 

"No,  I  don't,"  the  girl  had  to  answer,  though  a 
dreadful  idea  was  whirring  an  alarm  in  her  brain. 

"I  dare  say  he  is  back  before  this,  being  more 
considerate  of  my  feelings  than  you,  and  less  noisy," 
went  on  the  old  woman,  anxious  to  prove  that  Annes- 
ley  Grayle  and  nobody  else  was  responsible  for  keep- 
ing her  from  rest.  "Anyhow,  what  a  man  does  is  not 
my  business.  What  you  do,  is.  Now,  did  or  did 
not  a  certain  person  walk  in  and  surprise  you  at  the 
Archdeacon's?  Don't  stand  there  blinking  like  an 
owl.  Speak  out.  Yes  or  no?" 

"No,"  Annesley  breathed. 

"Then  you  haven't  been  to  the  Smiths'.  I  can 
more  easily  believe  you  are  lying  than  he.  Hark! 
There  he  comes.  Isn't  that  a  latchkey  hi  the  front 
door?" 

"It — sounds  like  it.  But — perhaps  it's  a  mouse  in 
the  wall.  Mice — make  such  strange  noises." 

"They're  not  making  this  one.  He  never  could 
manage  that  key  properly.  Nobody  with  ears 
could  mistake  the  sound,  with  both  my  door  and  the 
baize  door  open  between,  as  they  are  now. 

"No!  You  aren't  to  run  and  let  him  in.  I  don't 
want  him  to  think  we  spy  on  him.  He's  free  to  come 
and  go  as  he  pleases,  but  I  wish  he  wasn't  so  fond  of 
surprises.  It's  not  fair  to  me,  at  my  time  of  life. 


65 

As  I  was  sitting  down  to  dinner  he  walked  in.  Of 
course  I  had  to  ask  him  to  dine,  though  there  wasn't 
enough  food  for  two.  However,  he  refused,  saying 
he  would  drop  in  at  the  Archdeacon's 

"  Mr.  Smith  has  come ! "  Annesley  cried  out,  wildly, 
interrupting  her  mistress  for  the  first  time  in  all  their 
years  together.  "Oh,  he  will  go  upstairs!  I  must 
stop  him — I  mean,  speak  to  him !  I 

"You  will  do  nothing  of  the  kind!"  Mrs.  Ells- 
worth leaned  out  of  bed  and  seized  the  girl's  dress. 
Careless  of  any  consequence  save  one,  Annesley 
struggled  to  free  herself.  But  the  old  hand  with  its 
lumpy  knuckles  was  strong  in  spite  of  fat  and  rheuma- 
tism. It  clung  leechlike  to  chiffon  of  cloak  and 
gown,  and  though  Annesley  tore  at  the  yellow  fingers, 
she  could  not  loosen  them. 

Desperate,  she  cried  out  in  a  choked  voice,  "Mr. 
Smith!  Mr.  Smith!"  then  checked  herself  lest  the 
wrong  Mr.  Smith  should  answer. 

But  her  voice  was  like  the  voice  of  one  who  tries  to 
scream  in  a  nightmare.  It  was  muffled;  and  though 
the  two  intervening  doors  were  ajar — the  door  of 
Mrs.  Ellsworth's  bedroom  and  the  baize  door  divid- 
ing the  corridors  old  and  new — her  call  did  not  reach 
even  the  real  Mr.  Smith.  To  be  sure,  he  was  slightly 
deaf,  and  had  to  use  an  electric  apparatus  if  he  went 
to  the  theatre  or  opera;  still,  Annesley  hoped  that 
her  choked  cry  might  arrest  him,  that  he  might  stop 
and  listen  for  it  to  come  again,  thus  giving  time  for 
the  man  upstairs  to  change  his  quarters  after  the 
grating  of  the  latchkey  in  its  lock. 


66  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

"Wicked,  wicked  girl!'*  Mrs.  Ellsworth  was  shrill- 
ing. "How  dare  you  hurt  my  hand?  Have  you 
lost  your  senses?  Out  of  my  house  you  go  to- 
morrow!'* 

But  Annesley  did  not  hear.  Her  mind,  her  whole 
self,  had  escaped  from  her  body  and  rushed  out  into 
the  hall  to  intercept  Mr.  Ruthven  Smith.  It  seemed 
that  he  must  feel  the  influence  and  stop.  If  he  did 
not,  some  terrible  thing  would  happen — unless,  in- 
deed, the  other  man  had  heard  and  heeded  the  warn- 
ing sound  at  the  front  door.  What  if  those  two 
met  on  the  stairs,  or  in  the  room  on  the  second  floor? 
Her  lover  would  believe  that  she  had  betrayed  him! 

"Mrs.  Ellsworth,"  she  said  in  a  fierce,  low  voice 
utterly  unlike  her  own,  "you  must  let  me  go,  or  you 
will  regret  it.  I  don't  want  to  hurt  you,  but — 
there's  only  one  thing  that  matters.  If— 

The  words  seemed  to  be  beaten  back  against  her 
lips  with  a  blow.  From  somewhere  above  a  sharp, 
dry  explosion  struck  the  girl's  brain  and  shattered 
her  thoughts  like  breaking  glass. 

Mrs.  Ellsworth  let  go  the  chiffon  cloak  and  dress 
so  suddenly  that  Annesley  almost  lost  her  balance. 
The  noise  had  dazed  the  girl.  The  world  seemed  full 
and  echoing  with  it.  She  did  not  know  what  it  was 
until  she  heard  Mrs.  Ellsworth  gasp,  "A  pistol  shot! 
In  my  house !  Thieves  I  Murder ! ' ' 


CHAPTER  VI 
THE    BEGINNING— OR    THE    END? 

FOR  one  confused  instant  the  girl  stood  statue- 
still,  then,  realizing  that  she  was  free,  without  a 
thought  for  Mrs.  Ellsworth  she  ran  out  of  the  room. 
In  the  front  corridor  and  in  the  dining  room  the 
electric  light  was  still  on;  and  as  she  reached  the 
stairs  Annesley  saw  Ruthven  Smith  standing  near  the 
top  with  a  small  pistol  in  his  hand. 

She  feared  that  he  would  fire  a  second  shot,  and 
there  was  no  time  to  reach  him.  Somehow,  he  must 
be  stopped  with  a  word — but  what  word?  Every- 
thing depended  on  that.  Sheer  desperation  inspired 
her. 

"Stop!  He's  my  lover!"  she  cried.  "Don't 
shoot!" 

Ruthven  Smith — a  tall,  lanky  figure  in  a  long  over- 
coat— kept  his  weapon  aimed  at  someone  out  of  the 
girl's  sight,  but  he  jerked  his  head  aside  for  a  glance 
down  at  her.  It  was  a  brief  glance,  for  the  man  who 
dreaded  burglars  would  not  be  caught  napping.  He 
turned  again  instantly  to  face  a  possible  antagonist, 
eyes  as  well  as  weapon  ready. 

But  the  light  from  below  had  lit  up  his  features 
for  a  second;  and  Annesley  realized  that  disgust  and 

67 


68  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

astonishment  were  the  emotions  her  "confession" 
had  inspired. 

The  fact  that  he  was  inclined  to  believe  her  state- 
ment showed  how  low  was  his  opinion  of  women. 
Annesley  knew  that  he  did  not  think  highly  of  her 
sex,  but  he  had  liked  her  and  she  had  liked  him  de- 
spite his  eccentricities.  His  look  said:  "So  you  are 
the  same  as  the  rest!  But  in  case  you're  lying,  I 
sha'n't  be  thrown  off  guard." 

The  girl  felt  physically  sick  as  she  understood  the 
irrevocability  of  what  she  had  just  said,  and  the  way 
in  which  her  words  were  construed.  If  she  could 
have  waited,  "Nelson  Smith"  might  have  saved  him- 
self without  compromising  her,  for  he  was  above  all 
things  resourceful.  In  announcing  that  he  was  her 
"  lover,"  she  had  committed  him  as  well  as  herself. 
He  would  have  to  make  the  best  of  a  situation  she 
had  recklessly  created. 

This  she  realized,  but  had  no  time  to  wonder  how 
he  would  do  it  before  he  spoke. 

"Mr.  Ruthven  Smith,  what  Miss  Grayle  says  is  the 
truth.  We're  engaged  to  be  married.  All  I  want  is  a 
chance  to  explain  why  you  find  me  where  I  am.  I'm 
not  armed,  so  you  can  safely  give  me  that  chance." 

"You  know  my  name?"  exclaimed  Ruthven 
Smith,  suspiciously.  He  still  covered  the  other  with 
his  pistol,  as  Annesley  could  see  now,  because  "Nel- 
son Smith  "  had  coolly  advanced  within  a  yard  of  the 
Browning's  small  black  muzzle,  and,  finding  the 
electric  switch,  had  flooded  the  upper  corridor  with 
light. 


THE  BEGINNING— OR  THE  END?      69 

"I've  heard  your  name  from  Miss  Grayle,"  said 
the  younger  man.  "I  know  it  must  be  you,  because 
no  other  person  has  a  right  to  make  himself  at  home 
in  this  house  as  you  are  doing.  I  certainly  haven't. 
But  bringing  her  home  a  few  minutes  ago,  after 
dining  out,  we  saw  a  light  in  what  she  said  was  your 
room.  She  was  afraid  some  thief  had  got  in,  and  I 
proposed  to  her  that  I  should  take  a  quiet  look  round 
while  she  went  to  see  if  Mrs.  Ellsworth  was  safe.  No 
doubt  she  was  all  right,  because  I  heard  them  talking 
together  while  I  examined  your  premises.  The  next 
thing  I  knew,  as  I  was  coming  down  with  the  news 
that  everything  was  quiet,  you  blazed  away.  It  was 
quite  a  surprise." 

"I  fired  in  the  air,  not  at  you,"  Ruthven  Smith 
excused  himself,  more  or  less  convinced.  Annesley 
clutched  the  banisters  in  the  sudden  weakness  of  a 
great  revulsion  from  panic  to  relief.  She  might  have 
known  that  he  would  somehow  rescue  her,  even  from 
her  own  blundering. 

The  shamed  red  which  had  stained  Annesley's 
cheeks  at  Ruthven  Smith's  contempt  died  away. 
Her  "lover" — he  was  openly  that  now — had  miracu- 
lously made  his  presence  in  the  other  Smith's 
room,  after  eleven  o'clock  at  night  in  this  early  bed- 
going  household,  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world. 
At  least,  Ruthven  Smith's  almost  apologetic  tone  in 
answering  proved  that  he  had  been  persuaded  to 
think  it  so. 

With  Mrs.  Ellsworth,  however,  it  would  be  differ- 
ent. There  would  lie  the  stumbling-block;  but  with 


70  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

all  danger  trom  the  Browning  ended,  the  girl  was  in 
no  mood  to  borrow  trouble  for  the  future,  even  a 
future  already  rushing  into  the  arms  of  the  present. 

"I  should  always  fire  the  first  shot  in  the  air," 
Ruthven  Smith  went  on,  "unless  directly  threat- 
ened." 

"Lucky  for  me,"  replied  the  other.  "I  don't 
want  to  die  yet.  And  it  would  have  been  hard  lines, 
as  I  was  trying  to  do  you  a  good  turn:  rid  you 
of  a  thief  if  there  were  one.  But  I  suppose  you 
or  some  servant  must  have  left  the  light  on  in  your 
room." 

"I'm  pretty  sure  I  didn't,"  said  Ruthven  Smith, 
still  speaking  with  the  nervousness  of  a  suspicious 
man,  yet  at  the  same  time  slowly,  half  reluctantly, 
pocketing  his  pistol.  "We  must  find  out  how  this 
happened.  Perhaps  there  has  been  a  thief— 

"No  sign  of  anything  being  disturbed  in  your 
room,"  the  younger  man  assured  him.  "However, 
you'd  best  have  a  look  round.  If  you  like" — and  he 
laughed  a  frank-sounding  laugh — "I'm  quite  willing 
to  be  searched  before  I  leave  the  house,  so  you  can 
make  sure  I'm  not  going  off  with  any  booty." 

"Certainly  not!  Nothing  of  the  kind!  I  accept 
your  explanation,"  protested  Ruthven  Smith.  He 
laughed  also,  though  stiffly  and  with  an  effort.  "I 
have  no  valuables  in  my  luggage — I  have  brought 
none  with  me.  It's  not  worth  my  while  to  open 
the  boxes  in  my  room,  as  there's  nothing  there  to 
tempt  a  thief.  Still,  one  gets  a  start  coming  to  a 
quiet  house,  at  this  time  of  night,  finding  a  light  in 


THE  BEGINNING-OR  THE  END?      71 

one's  windows  that  ought  to  be  dark,  and  then  seeing 
a  man  walk  out  of  one's  room.  My  nerves  aren't 
over-strong.  I  confess  I  have  a  horror  of  night 
alarms.  I  travel  a  good  deal,  and  have  got  in  the 
habit  of  carrying  a  pistol.  However,  all's  well  that 
ends  well.  I  apologize  to  you,  and  to  Miss  Grayle. 
When  I  know  you  better,  I  hope  you'll  allow  me  to 
make  up  by  congratulating  you  both  on  your  engage- 
ment." 

As  he  spoke,  in  his  prim,  old-fashioned  way,  he 
began  to  descend  the  stairs,  taking  off  his  hat,  as  if 
to  join  the  girl  whom  in  thought  he  had  wronged  for 
an  instant.  "Nelson  Smith"  followed,  smiling  at 
Annesley  over  the  elder  man's  high,  narrow  head 
sparsely  covered  with  lank  hair  of  fading  brown. 

It  was  at  this  moment  Mrs.  Ellsworth  chose  to 
appear,  habited  once  more  in  a  hurriedly  donned 
dressing  gown,  a  white  silk  scarf  substituted  in 
haste  for  a  discarded  nightcap.  Panting  with  anger, 
and  fierce  with  curiosity,  she  had  forgotten  her 
rheumatism  and  abandoned  her  martyred  hobble  for 
a  waddling  run. 

Thus  she  pounced  out  at  the  foot  of  the  stairway, 
and  was  upon  the  girl  before  the  three  absorbed 
actors  in  the  scene  had  heard  the  shuffling  feet  in 
woollen  slippers. 

"What  does  tkis  mean?"  she  quavered,  so  close  to 
Annesley's  ear  that  the  girl  wheeled  with  a  start  of 
renewed  alarm.  "Who's  this  strange  man  in  my 
house?  What's  this  talk  about  'engagements'?" 

"A  strange  man!"  echoed  Ruthven  Smith,  prick- 


72  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

ling  with  suspicion  again.  "Haven't  you  met  him, 
Miss  Grayle's  fiance?" 

"Miss  Grayle's  fiddlesticks!"  shrilled  the  old 
woman.  "  The  girl's  a  baggage,  a  worthless  baggage ! 
In  my  room  just  now  she  struck  me — beat  my  poor 
rheumatic  knuckles!  For  five  years  I've  sheltered 
her,  given  her  the  best  of  everything,  even  to  the 
clothes  she  has  on  her  back.  This  is  the  way  she 
repays  me — with  insults  and  cruelty,  and  smuggles 
strange  men  secretly  into  my  house  at  night,  and 
pretends  to  be  engaged  to  them!" 

The  dark  young  man  in  evening  dress  passed  the 
lean  figure  in  travelling  clothes  without  a  word  and, 
putting  Annesley  gently  aside,  stepped  between  her 
and  Mrs.  Ellsworth. 

"There  is  no  question  of  'pretending',"  he  said, 
sternly.  "Miss  Grayle  has  promised  to  marry  me. 
If  our  engagement  has  been  kept  a  secret,  it's  only 
because  the  right  moment  hadn't  come  for  announc- 
ing it.  I  entered  your  house  for  a  few  moments  to- 
night, for  the  first  time,  on  an  errand  which  seemed 
important,  as  Mr.  Ruthven  Smith  will  explain.  I 
don't  feel  called  upon  to  apologize  for  my  presence 
in  the  face  of  your  attitude  to  Miss  Grayle.  It 
was  our  intention  that  you  should  have  plenty  of 
notice  before  she  left  you,  time  to  find  someone  for 
her  place;  but  after  what  has  happened,  it's  your 
own  fault,madame,if  we  marry  with  a  special  licence, 
and  I  take  her  out  of  this  house  to-morrow.  I  only 
wish  it  might  be  now — 

"It  shall  be  now!"     Mrs.  Ellsworth  screamed  him 


THE  BEGINNING— OR  THE  END?      73 

down.  "The  girl  doesn't  darken  my  doors  another 
hour.  I  don't  know  who  you  are,  and  I  don't  want 
to  know.  But  with  or  without  you,  Annesley  Grayle 
leaves  my  house  to-night." 

"Mrs.  Ellsworth,  surely  you  haven't  stopped  to 
think  what  you're  saying!"  protested  Ruthven 
Smith.  "You  can't  turn  a  girl  into  the  street  in 
the  middle  of  the  night  with  a  young  man  you  don't 
know,  even  if  she  is  engaged  to  him." 

"I  won't  have  her  here,  after  the  way  she's  treated 
me — after  the  way  she's  acted  altogether,"  Mrs. 
Ellsworth  insisted.  "Let  her  go  to  your  cousins' 
if  you  think  they'd  approve  of  her  conduct.  As  for 
me,  I  doubt  it.  And  I'm  sure  she  lied  when  she  said 
they'd  asked  her  to  dine  with  them  to-night.  I  don't 
believe  she  went  near  them." 

Ruthven  Smith,  who  had  made  a  surprise  visit  at 
the  Archdeacon's  and  dined  there,  had  heard  no 
mention  of  Annesley  Grayle  being  expected.  For 
an  instant  he  was  silenced,  but  the  girl  did  not  lack  a 
defender. 

"She  will  not  need  to  beg  for  Archdeacon  Smith's 
hospitality,"  said  the  young  man.  "And  even  if 
Mrs.  Ellsworth  implored  her  to  stay,  I  couldn't  allow 
it  now.  I  will  see  that  Miss  Grayle  is  properly 
sheltered  and  cared  for  to-night  by  a  lady  whose 
kindness  will  make  her  forget  what  she  has  suffered. 
As  soon  as  possible  we  shall  be  married  by  special 
licence.  Go  to  your  room,  dearest,  and  put  together 
a  few  things  for  to-night  and  to-morrow  morning — 
just  what  will  fit  into  a  hand-bag.  If  there's  any- 


74  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

thing  else  you  value,  it  can  be  sent  for  later.  Then 
I'll  take  you  away." 

The  words  were  brave  and  comforting,  and  a  wave 
of  emotion  swept  Annesley's  soul  toward  the  mysteri- 
ous, unknown  soul  of  her  knight.  It  was  so  strong, 
so  compelling  a  wave  that  she  had  no  fear  in  trusting 
herself  to  him.  He  was  her  refuge,  her  protector. 

For  a  moment  of  gratitude  she  even  forgot  he  was 
mysterious,  forgot  that  a  few  hours  ago  she  had  been 
ignorant  of  his  existence.  When  remembrance 
flooded  her  brain,  her  only  fear  was  for  him.  What 
if  the  watchers  should  still  be  there  when  they  went 
out  of  the  house  together? 

She  had  turned  to  go  to  her  room  as  he  suggested 
when  suddenly  this  question  seemed  to  be  shouted  in 
her  ear.  Hesitating,  she  looked  back,  her  eyes  im- 
ploring, to  meet  a  smile  so  confident  that  it  defied 
fate. 

Annesley  saw  that  he  understood  what  was  in 
her  mind,  and  this  smile  was  the  answer.  For 
some  reason  he  thought  himself  sure  that  the 
watchers  were  out  of  the  way.  The  girl  could  not 
guess  why,  unless  he  had  spied  on  the  taxi  from 
Ruthven  Smith's  window  and  saw  it  go.  But  she 
would  soon  learn. 

Her  room  was  a  mere  bandbox  at  the  back  of  the 
"addition,"  behind  Mrs.  Ellsworth's  bedroom  and 
bath;  and  dashing  into  it  now,  the  new,  vividly  alive 
Annesley  seemed  to  meet  and  pity  the  timid,  hope- 
less girl  whose  one  safe  haven  these  mean  quarters 
had  been.  She  tried  to  gather  the  old  self  into  her 


THE  BEGINNING— OR  THE  END?      75 

new  self,  that  she  might  take  it  with  her  and  comfort 
it,  rescuing  it  from  the  tyrant. 

The  two  trunks  she  had  brought  five  years  ago 
were  stored  in  the  basement  box-room;  but  under  the 
camp  bed  was  her  dressing-bag,  the  only  "lock-up" 
receptacle  she  possessed.  In  it  she  kept  a  few  letters 
and  an  abortive  diary  which  in  some  moods  had  given 
her  the  comfort  of  a  confidant. 

The  key  of  this  bag  was  never  absent  from  her 
purse,  and  opening  it  with  quivering  hands,  the  girl 
threw  in  a  few  toilet  things  for  the  night,  a  coat,  skirt, 
and  blouse  for  morning,  and  a  small  flat  toque  which 
would  not  crush.  Afterward — in  that  wonderful, 
dim  "afterward"  which  shone  vaguely  bright,  like  a 
sunlit  landscape  discerned  through  mist — she  could 
send  for  more  of  her  possessions.  But  she  would 
have  nothing  which  had  been  given  her  by  Mrs. 
Ellsworth,  and  she  would  return  the  dress  and  cloak 
she  was  wearing  to-night. 

Three  minutes  were  enough  for  the  packing  of  the 
bag;  then,  luggage  in  hand,  she  turned  at  the  door 
for  a  last  look,  such  as  a  released  convict  might  give 
to  his  cell. 

"Good-bye!"  she  said,  with  a  thought  of  compas- 
sion for  her  successor.  And  passing  Mrs.  Ellsworth's 
room  she  would  have  thrown  a  farewell  glance  at  its 
familiar  chairs  and  tables,  each  one  of  which  she 
hated  with  a  separate  hatred;  but  with  a  shock  of 
surprise,  she  found  the  door  shut. 

That  must  mean  that  the  dragon  had  retreated 
:om  the  combat  and  retired  to  her  lair! 


76  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

Not  to  be  chased  from  the  house  by  the  sharp 
arrows  of  insult  seemed  almost  too  good  to  be  true. 
But  when  Annesley  arrived,  bag  in  hand,  in  the  front 
corridor,  it  was  to  see  Ruthven  Smith  standing  there 
alone,  and  the  door  open  to  the  street. 

"Mrs.  Ellsworth  has  gone  to  her  room,"  he  ex- 
plained, "and — er — your  friend — your  fiance — is 
looking  for  a  taxi,  not  to  keep  you  waiting.  He 
didn't  leave  till  Mrs.  Ellsworth  went.  I  don't  think 
he  would  have  trusted  me  to  protect  you  with- 
out him,  though  I — er — I  did  my  best  with  her. 
Good  heavens,  what  a  fury!  I  never  saw  that  side 
of  her  before!  I  must  say,  I  don't  blame  you  for 
making  your  own  plans,  Miss  Grayle.  I — I  don't 
blame  you  for  anything,  and  I  hope  you'll  feel  the 
same  toward  me.  I'd  be  sorry  to  think  that — er — 
after  our  pleasant  acquaintance  this  was  to  be  our 
last  meeting.  Won't  you  show  that  you  forgive  me 
for  the  mistake  I  made — I  think  it  was  natural — and 
tell  me  what  your  married  name  will  be?" 

Annesley  looked  anxiously  at  the  half-open  front 
door.  If  only  the  absent  one  would  return  and  save 
her  from  this  new  dilemma!  If  she  did  not  speak, 
Mr.  Ruthven  Smith  would  think  her  narsh  and  un- 
forgiving, yet  she  could  not  answer  unless  she  gave 
the  name  adopted  temporarily  for  convenience.  She 
hesitated,  her  eyes  on  the  door;  but  the  darkness  and 
silence  outside  sent  a  doubt  into  her  heart,  cold  and 
sickly  as  a  bat  flapping  in  from  the  night. 

What  if  he  never  came  back  ?  What  if  the  watchers* 
had  been  hiding  out  there,  lying  in  wait  and,  two 


THE  BEGINNING— OR  THE  END?      77 

against  one — both  bigger  men  physically  than  he,  and 
perhaps  armed — they  had  overpowered  him?  What 
if  she  were  never  to  see  him  again,  and  this  hour 
which  had  seemed  the  beginning  of  hope  were  to  be 
its  end? 


CHAFPER  VII 
THE  COUNTESS  DE  SANTIAGO 

"You  don't  wish  to  tell  me  the  name?"  Ruthven 
Smith  was  saying. 

The  repetition  irritated  the  girl,  whose  nerves  were 
strained  to  snapping  point.  She  could  not  parry  the 
man's  questions.  She  could  not  bear  his  grieved  or 
offended  reproaches.  If  he  persisted,  through  these 
moments  of  suspense,  she  would  scream  or  burst  out 
crying.  Trembling,  with  tears  in  her  voice,  she 
heard  herself  answer.  And  yet  it  did  not  seem  to  be 
herself,  but  something  within-,  stronger  than  she, 
that  suddenly  took  control  of  her. 

"Why  should  I  not  wish  to  tell  you?"  the  Somex 
thing  was  saying.  "The  name  is  the  same  as  you* 
own — Smith.  Nelson  Smith."  And  before  the  words 
had  left  her  lips  a  taxi  drew  up  at  the  door. 

There  was  one  instant  of  agony  during  which  tht 
previous  suspense  seemed  nothing — an  instant  when 
the  girl  forgot  what  she  had  said,  her  soul  pressing  to 
the  windows  of  her  eyes.  Was  it  he  who  had  come, 
or 

It  was  he.  Before  she  had  time  to  finish  the 
thought,  he  walked  in,  confident  and  smiling  as  when 
.vhe  had  left  him  a  few  minutes — or  a  few  years — 

78 


THE  COUNTESS  DE  SANTIAGO         79 

ago;  and  in  the  wave  of  relief  which  overwhelmed 
her,  Annesley  forgot  Ruthven  Smith's  question  and 
her  answer.  She  remembered  again,  only  with  the 
shock  of  hearing  him  address  the  newcomer  by  the 
name  she  had  given. 

"I  hear  from  Miss  Grayle  that  we  are  namesakes," 
Mr.  Ruthven  Smith  said,  as  "Nelson  Smith"  sprang 
in  and  took  the  girl's  bag  from  her  ice-cold  hand. 

"I — he  asked  me  ...  I  told  him,"  Annesley 
stammered,  her  eyes  appealing,  seeking  to  explain, 
and  begging  pardon.  "But  if " 

"Quite  right.  Why  not  tell?"  he  answered  in- 
stantly, his  first  glance  of  surprise  turning  to  cheer- 
ful reassurance.  "Now  Mrs.  Ellsworth  is  eliminated, 
I'm  no  longer  a  secret.  And  I  expect  you'll  like  to 
meet  Mr.  Ruthven  Smith  again  when  you  have  a 
house  to  entertain  him  in." 

So  speaking,  he  offered  his  hand  with  a  smile  to  his 
"namesake";  and  Annesley  realized  from  the  out- 
sider's point  of  view  the  peculiar  attraction  of  the 
man.  Ruthven  Smith  felt  it,  as  she  had  felt  it, 
though  differently  and  in  a  lesser  degree.  Not  only 
did  he  shake  hands,  but  actually  came  out  to  the  taxi 
with  them,  asking  Annesley  if  he  should  tell  his 
cousins  of  her  engagement,  or  if  she  preferred  to  give 
the  news  herself? 

It  flashed  into  the  girl's  mind  that  it  would  be 
perfect  if  she  could  be  married  to  her  knight  by 
Archdeacon  Smith;  but  she  had  been  imprudent  too 
often  already.  She  dared  not  make  such  a  sugges- 
tion without  consulting  the  other  person  most  con- 


80  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

cerned,  so  she  answered  that  she  would  write  Mrs. 
Smith  or  see  her. 

"To  say  that  you,  too,  are  going  to  be  Mrs. Smith ! " 
chuckled  the  Archdeacon's  cousin  in  his  dry  way, 
which  made  him  seem  even  older  than  he  was.  "Well, 
you  can  trust  me  with  Mrs.  Ellsworth.  If  she  goes 
on  as  she  began  to-night,  I'm  afraid  I  shall  have  to 
follow  your  example:  'fold  my  tent  like  an  Arab,  and 
silently  steal  away.'  Ha,  ha!  By  the  by,  I  dare 
say  she's  owing  you  salary.  I'll  remind  her  of  it  if 
you  like — tell  her  you  asked  me.  It  may  help  with 
the  trousseau." 

"Thank  you,  but  my  wife  won't  need  to  remind 
Mrs.  Ellsworth  of  her  debt,"  the  answer  came  before 
Annesley  could  speak.  "And  she  will  be  my  wife 
in  a  day  or  two  at  latest.  Good-night !  Glad  to  have 
met  you,  even  if  it  was  an  unpromising  introduction." 

Then  they  were  off,  they  two  alone  together;  and 
Annesley  guessed  that  the  chauffeur  must  have  had  his 
instructions  where  to  drive,  as  she  heard  none  given. 
Perhaps  it  was  best  that  their  destination  should  not 
be  published  aloud,  for  there  are  walls  which  have 
ears.  It  occurred  to  the  girl  that  precautions  might 
still  have  to  be  taken.  But  in  another  moment 
she  was  undeceived. 

"I  thought  old  Ruthven  Smith  would  be  shocked 
if  he  knew  the  'safe  refuge'  I  have  for  you  is  no  more 
convent-like  than  the  Savoy  Hotel,"  her  companion 
laughed.  " By  Jove,  neither  you  nor  I  dreamed  when 
we  got  out  of  the  last  taxi  that  we  should  soon  be  in 
another,  going  back  to  the  place  we  started  from ! " 


THE  COUNTESS  DE  SANTIAGO         81 

"The  Savoy!"  exclaimed  Annesley.  "Oh,  but  we 
mustn't  go  there,  of  all  places!  Those  men 

"I  assure  you  it's  safer  now  than  anywhere  in 
London!"  the  man  cut  her  short.  "I  can't  explain 
why — that  is,  I  could  explain  if  I  cared  to  rig  up  a 
story.  But  there's  something  about  you  makes 
me  feel  as  if  I'd  like  to  tell  you  the  truth  whenever  I 
can:  and  the  truth  is,  that  for  reasons  you  may 
understand  some  day — though  I  hope  to  Heaven 
you'll  never  Iiave  to! — my  association  with  those  men 
is  one  of  the  things  I  long  to  turn  the  key  upon.  I 
know  that  that  sounds  like  Bluebeard  to  Fatima,  but 
it  isn't  as  bad  as  that.  To  me,  it  doesn't  seem  bad  at 
all.  And  I  swear  that  whatever  mystery — if  you  call 
it  'mystery' — there  is  about  me,  it  sha'n't  hurt  you. 
Will  you  believe  this — and  trust  me  for  the  rest?  " 

"I've  told  you  I  would!"  the  girl  reminded  him. 

"I  know.  But  things  were  different  then — not  so 
serious.  They  hadn't  gone  so  far.  I  didn't  suppose 
that  Fate  would  give  you  to  me  so  soon.  I  didn't 
dare  hope  it.  I " 

"Are  you  sure  you  want  me?"   Annesley  faltered. 

"Surer  than  I've  ever  been  of  anything  in  my  life 
before.  It's  only  of  you  I'm  thinking.  I  wanted 
to  arrange  my — business  matters  so  as  to  be  fair  to 
you.  But  you'll  make  the  best  of  things." 

"You  are  being  noble  to  me,"  said  the  girl,  "and 
I've  been  very  foolish.  I've  complicated  everything. 
First,  by  what  I  told  Mr.  Ruthven  Smith  about — 
about  us.  And  then — saying  your  name  was  Nelson 
Smith." 


82  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

"You  weren't  foolish!"  he  contradicted.  "You 
were  only — playing  into  Fate's  hands.  You  couldn't 
help  yourself.  Destiny!  And  all's  for  the  best. 
You  were  an  angel  to  sacrifice  yourself  to  save  me, 
and  your  doing  it  the  way  you  did  has  made  me  a 
happy  man  at  one  stroke.  As  for  the  name — what's 
in  a  name?  We  might  as  well  be  in  reality  what  we 
played  at  being  to-night — 'Mr.  and  Mrs.  Nelson 
Smith/  There  are  even  reasons  why  I'm  pleased 
that  you  Ve  made  me  a  present  of  the  name.  I  thank 
you  for  it — and  for  all  the  rest." 

"Oh,  but  if  it  isn't  really  your  name,  we  sha'n't  be 
legally  married,  shall  we?"  Annesley  protested. 
.  "By  Jove!"  he  exclaimed.  "I  hadn't  thought  of 
that.  It's  a  difficulty.  But  we'll  obviate  it — some- 
how. Don't  worry!  Only  I'm  afraid  we  can't  ask 
your  friend  the  Archdeacon  t<5  marry  us,  as  I  meant 
to  suggest,  because  I  was  sure  you'd  like  it." 

"I  should.  But  it  doesn't  matter,"  said  the  girl. 
"Besides,  I  feel  that  to-morrow  I  shall  find  I've 
dreamed — all  this." 

"Then  I've  dreamed  you,  at  the  same  time,  and 
I'm  not  going  to  let  you  slip  out  of  my  dream,  now 
I've  got  you  in  it.  I  intend  to  go  on  dreaming  you 
for  the  rest  of  my  life.  And  I  shall  take  care  you 
don't  wake  up!" 

Afterward  there  came  a  time  when  Annesley 
called  back  those  words  and  wondered  if  they  had 
held  a  deeper  meaning  than  she  guessed.  But,  hav- 
ing uttered  them,  he  seemed  to  put  the  thought  out  of 
his  mind,  and  turn  to  the  next. 


THE  COUNTESS  DE  SANTIAGO         83 

"About  the  Savoy,"  he  went  on.  "I  want  to  take 
you  there,  because  I  know  a  woman  staying  in  the 
hotel — a  woman  old  enough  to  be  .your  mother — 
who'll  look  after  you,  to  please  me,  till  we're  married. 
Afterward  you'll  be  nice  to  her,  and  that  will  be 
doing  her  a  good  turn,  because  she's  apt  to  be  lone- 
some in  London.  She's  the  widow  of  a  Spanish 
Count,  and  has  lived  in  the  Argentine,  but  I  met  her 
in  New  York.  She  knows  all  about  me — or  enough 
— and  if  she'd  been  in  the  restaurant  at  dinner  this 
evening  she  could  have  done  for  me  what  you  did. 
I  had  reason  to  think  she  would  be  there  when  I 
bolted  in  to  get  out  of  a  fix.  But  she  was  missing. 
Are  you  sorry?" 

"If  she'd  been  there,  you  would  have  gone  to  her 
table  and  sat  down,  and  we — should  never  have 
met!"  Annesley  thought  aloud.  "How  strange! 
Just  that  little  thing — your  friend  being  out  to  din- 
ner— and  our  whole  lives  are  to  be  changed.  Oh, 
you  must  be  sorry?" 

"I  tell  you,  meeting  you  and  winning  you  in  this 
way  is  worth  the  best  ten  years  of  my  life.  But  you 
haven't  answered  my  question." 

"I'll  answer  it  now!"  cried  the  girl.  "Meeting 
you  is  worth  all  the  years  of  my  life!  I'm  not  much 
of  a  princess,  but  you  are  St.  George." 

"St.  George!"  he  echoed,  a  ring  of  bitterness  under 
his  laugh.  "That's  the  first  time  I've  been  called  a 
saint,  and  I'm  afraid  it  will  be  the  last.  I  can't  live 
up  to  that,  but — if  I  can  give  you  a  happy  life,  and 
a  few  of  the  beautiful  things  you  deserve,  why,  it's 


84  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

something !  Besides,  I'm  going  to  worship  my 
princess.  I'd  give  anything  to  show  you  how  I— 
but  no.  I  was  good  before,  when  I  was  tempted  to 
kiss  you.  You're  at  my  mercy  now,  in  a  way,  all 
the  more  because  I'm  taking  you  from  your  old 
existence  to  one  you  don't  know. 

"I  sha'n't  ask  to  kiss  you — except  maybe  your 
little  hand  if  you  don't  mind — until  the  moment 
you're  my  wife.  Meantime,  I'll  try  to  grow  a  bit 
more  like  what  your  lover  ought  to  be;  and  later  I 
shall  kiss  you  enough  to  make  up  for  lost  time." 

If,  five  hours  ago,  any  one  had  told  Annesley 
Grayle  that  she  would  wish  to  have  a  strange  man 
take  her  in  his  arms  and  kiss  her  she  would  have  felt 
insulted.  Yet  so  it  was.  She  was  sorry  that  he 
was  so  scrupulous.  She  longed  to  have  him  hold  her 
against  his  heart. 

The  thought  thrilled  her  like  an  electric  shock  a 
thousand  times  more  powerful  than  the  tingling 
which  had  flashed  up  her  arm  at  the  first  touch  of 
his  hand,  though  even  that  had  seemed  terrifying 
then.  But  she  sat  still  in  her  corner  of  the  taxi,  and 
gave  him  no  answer,  lest  she  should  betray  herself. 

Her  silence,  after  the  warmth  of  his  words,  seemed 
cold.  Perhaps  he  felt  it  so,  for  he  went  on  after  an 
instant's  pause,  as  if  he  had  waited  for  something  in 
vain,  and  his  tone  was  changed.  Annesley  thought 
it,  by  contrast,  almost  businesslike. 

"You  mustn't  be  afraid,"  he  said,  "that  I  mean 
to  stay  at  the  Savoy  myself.  Even  if  I'd  been  stop- 
ping there,  I  should  move  if  I  were  going  to  put  you 


THE  COUNTESS  DE  SANTIAGO         85 

in  the  hotel.  But  I  have  my  own  lair  in  London. 
I've  been  over  here  a  number  of  times.  Indeed,  I'm 
partly  English,  born  in  Canada,  though  I've  spent 
most  of  my  life  in  the  United  States.  Nobody  at 
the  Savoy  but  the  Countess  de  Santiago  knows  who  I 
am,  and  she'll  understand  that  it  may  be  convenient 
for  me  to  change  my  name.  Nelson  Smith  is  a 
respectable  one,  and  she'll  respect  it! 

"Now,  my  plan  is  to  ask  for  her  (she'll  be  in  by  this 
time),  have  a  few  words  of  explanation  on  the  quiet, 
not  to  embarrass  you;  and  the  Countess  will  do  the 
rest.  She'll  engage  a  room  for  you  next  to  her  own 
suite,  or  as  near  as  possible ;  then  you'll  be  provided 
with  a  chaperon." 

"I'm  not  anxious  about  myself,  but  about  you," 
Annesley  said.  "You  haven't  told  me  yet  what 
happened  after  you  went  upstairs  at  Mrs.  Ells- 
worth's, and  how  you  knew  those  men  were  gone.  I 
suppose  you  did  know?  Or — did  you  chance  it?" 

"I  was  as  sure  as  I  needed  to  be,"  Nelson  Smith 
answered.  "A  moment  after  I  switched  on  the 
electricity  in  the  room  up  there  I  heard  a  taxi  drive 
away.  I  turned  off  the  light  so  I  could  look  out. 
By  flattening  my  nose  against  the  glass  I  could  see 
that  the  place  where  those  chaps  had  waited  was 
empty;  but  in  case  the  taxi  was  only  turning,  and 
meant  to  pass  the  house  again,  I  lit  the  room  once 
more,  for  realism. 

"That's  what  kept  me  rather  long — that,  and 
waiting  for  the  dragon  to  go.  Otherwise  I  should 
have  been  down  before  Ruthven  Smith  trapped  me. 


86  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

"For  a  second  it  looked  as  if  the  game  of  life  was 
up.  And  then  I  found  out  how  much  you  meant  to 
me.  It  was  you  I  thought  of.  It  seemed  beastly 
hard  luck  to  leave  you  fast  in  that  old  woman's 
clutches!" 

Annesley  put  out  her  hand  with  a  warm  impulse. 
He  took  it,  raising  it  to  his  lips,  and  both  were 
startled  when  the  taxi  stopped.  They  had  arrived 
at  the  Savoy:  and  though  Annesley  seemed  to  have 
lived  through  a  lifetime  of  emotion,  just  one  hour 
and  thirty  minutes  had  passed  since  she  and  her 
companion  drove  away  from  these  bright  revolving 
doors. 

The  foyer  was  as  brilliant  and  crowded  as  when 
they  left  at  half -past  ten.  People  were  parting  after 
supper;  or  they  were  lingering  in  the  restaurant  be- 
yond. Nobody  paid  the  slightest  attention  to  the 
newcomers,  and  Annesley  settled  down  unobtru- 
sively in  a  corner,  while  her  companion  went  to 
scribble  a  line  to  the  Countess  de  Santiago. 

When  he  had  finished,  and  sent  up  the  letter,  he  did 
not  return,  and  again  the  girl  had  a  few  moments  of 
suspense,  thinking  of  the  danger  which  might  not, 
after  all,  be  over.  Just  as  she  had  begun  to  be  anx- 
ious, however,  she  saw  him  coming  with  a  wonderful 
woman. 

Annesley  could  have  laughed,  remembering  how 
he  had  said  the  Countess  would  "mother"  her.  Any 
one  less  motherly  than  this  Juno-like  beauty  in  flame- 
coloured  chiffon  over  gold  tissue  it  would  be  hard  to 
imagine 


THE  COUNTESS  DE  SANTIAGO         87 

The  Spanish  South  American  Countess  was  of  a 
camelia  paleness,  and  had  almond-shaped  dark  eyes 
with  brooding  lashes  under  slender  brows  that  met. 
In  contrast,  her  hair  was  of  a  flame  colour  vivid  as 
her  draperies,  and  her  lips  were  red. 

At  first  glance  Annesley  thought  that  the  dazzling 
creature  could  not  be  more  than  thirty;  but  when  the 
vision  had  come  near  enough  to  offer  her  hand,  with- 
out waiting  for  an  introduction,  a  hardness  about 
the  handsome  face,  a  few  lines  about  the  eyes  and 
mouth,  and  a  fullness  of  the  chin  showed  that  she  was 
older — forty,  perhaps. 

Still,  Annesley  hoped  that  her  lover  had  not  asked 
the  lady  to  "mother"  his  fiancee.  She  had  not  the 
ah*  of  one  who  would  be  complimented  by  such  a 
request. 

As  Annesley  put  her  hand  into  that  of  the  Coun- 
tess, she  noticed  that  this  hand  was  as  wonderful  as 
the  rest  of  the  woman's  personality.  It  was  very 
long,  very  narrow,  with  curiously  supple-looking 
fingers  exquisitely  manicured  and  wearing  many 
rings.  Even  the  thumb  was  abnormally  long,  which 
fact  prevented  the  hand  from  being  as  beautiful  as  it 
was,  somehow,  unforgettable. 

"This  is  a  pleasure  and  a  surprise,"  began  the 
Countess,  smiling,  her  eyes  appearing  to  take  in  the 
full-length  portrait  of  Annesley  Grayle  with  their 
wide,  unmoving  gaze.  When  she  smiled  she  was 
still  extremely  handsome,  but  not  so  perfect  as  with 
lips  closed,  for  her  white  teeth  were  too  short,  some- 
what irregular,  and  set  too  wide  apart.  She  spoke 


88  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

English  perfectly,  with  a  slight  foreign  accent  and 
a  roll  of  the  letter  "r." 

"My  friend — Nelson  Smith"  (she  turned,  laugh- 
ing, to  him),  "has  told  me  ex-citing  news.  We  have 
known  each  other  a  long  time.  I  think  this  is  the 
best  thing  that  can  happen.  And  you  will  be  a 
lucky  girl.  He,  too,  will  be  lucky.  I  see  that!" 
with  another  smile. 

Annesley  was  disappointed  because  the  beautiful 
woman's  voice  was  not  sweet. 

"Now  you  must  engage  her  room,"  Nelson  Smith 
said,  abruptly.  "It's  late.  You  can  make  friends 
afterward." 

"Very  well,"  the  Countess  agreed.  "And  you— 
will  you  come  to  the  desk?  Yet,  no — it  is  better  not. 
Miss  Grayle  and  I  will  ^  go  together — two  women 
alone  and  independent.  Lucky  it's  not  the  season, 
or  we  might  find  nothing  free  at  short  notice.  But 
Don — I  mean  Nelson — always  did  have  luck.  I  hope 
he  always  will!" 

She  flashed  him  a  meaning  look,  though  what  the 
meaning  was  Annesley  could  not  guess.  She  knew 
only  that  she  did  not  like  the  Countess  as  she  had 
wished  to  like  her  lover's  friend.  There  was  some- 
thing secret  in  the  dark  eyes,  something  repellent 
about  the  long,  slender  thumb  with  its  glittering  nail. 


CHAPTER  VIII 
THE  BLUE  DIAMOND  RING 

ANNESLEY  had  not  expected  to  sleep.  There  were 
a  million  things  to  think  of,  and  it  was  one  o'clock 
before  she  was  ready  to  slip  into  bed  in  the  green- 
and-white  room  with  its  bathroom  annex.  But  the 
crowding  experiences  of  five  hours  had  exhausted  the 
girl.  Sleep  fell  upon  her  as  her  head  nestled  into  a 
downy  pillow,  and  she  lay  motionless  as  a  marble 
figure  on  a  tomb  until  a  sound  of  knocking  forced 
itself  into  her  dreams. 

She  waked  with  a  start.  The  curtains  were  drawn 
across  the  window,  but  she  could  see  that  it  was  day- 
light. A  streak  of  sunshine  thrust  a  golden  wedge 
between  the  draperies,  and  seemed  a  good  omen :  for 
the  sun  had  hidden  from  London  through  many 
wintry  weeks. 

The  knocking  was  real,  not  part  of  a  dream.  It 
was  at  her  door,  and  jumping  out  of  bed  she  could 
hardly  believe  a  clock  on  the  mantelpiece  which  said 
half -past  ten. 

"Who  is  it?'*  she  asked,  timidly,  fearing  that  the 
Countess  de  Santiago's  voice  might  answer;  but  a 
man  replied:  "A  note  from  a  gentleman  downstairs, 
please,  and  he's  waiting  an  answer." 

89 


90  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

Annesley  opened  the  door  a  crack,  and  took  in  a 
letter.  The  new  master  of  her  destiny  had  written: 

Hurrah,  my  darling,  our  affairs  march!  I  have  been  arranging 
about  the  licence,  et  cetera,  and  I  believe  that  you  and  I  can  join 
forces  for  the  rest  of  our  lives  to-morrow — blessed  day! 

How  soon  can  you  come  down  and  talk  over  plans?  I've  a 
hundred  to  propose.  Will  you  breakfast  with  me,  or  have  you 
finished? 

Yours  since  last  night,  till  eternal  night, 

N.  S. 

The  girl  scribbled  an  answer,  confessing  that  she 
had  overslept,  but  promising  to  be  down  in  half  an 
hour  for  breakfast.  She  did  not  stop  to  think  of 
anything  but  the  need  for  a  quick  reply;  yet  when  the 
note  was  sent,  and  she  was  "doing"  her  hair  after  a 
splash  in  the  porcelain  bath  (what  luxury  for  the  girl 
who  had  been  practically  a  servant!),  she  re-read  her 
love-letter,  spread  on  the  dressing-table. 

She  liked  her  lover's  handwriting.  It  seemed 
to  express  character — just  such  character  as  she 
imagined  her  knight's  to  be.  There  were  dash 
and  determination,  and  an  originality  which  would 
never  let  itself  be  bound  by  convention. 

Perhaps  if  she  had  been  critical — if  the  handwrit- 
ing had  been  that  of  a  stranger — she  might  have 
thought  it  too  bold.  Long  ago,  when  she  was  a  very 
young  girl,  she  had  superficially  studied  the  "science" 
of  chirography  from  articles  in  a  magazine,  and  had 
fancied  herself  a  judge.  She  remembered  disliking 
Mrs.  Ellsworth's  writing  the  first  time  she  saw  it, 
foreseeing  the  selfishness  which  afterward  enslaved 


91 

her.  Since  then  she  had  had  little  time  to  practise, 
until  the  day  when  she  heard  from  "Mr.  N.  Smith" 
after  her  answer  to  his  advertisement  in  the  Morning 
Post. 

One  reason  for  feeling  sure  she  could  never  care  for 
the  man  was  because  his  handwriting  prejudiced 
her  in  advance,  it  was  so  stiff,  so  devoid  of  character. 
How  different,  she  reflected  now,  from  the  writing 
of  the  man  who  had  taken  his  place! 

She  made  such  haste  in  dressing  that  her  fingers 
seemed  to  be  "all  thumbs";  and  when  at  length 
she  was  ready  she  gazed  gloomily  into  the  mirror. 
Last  night  she  had  not  been  so  bad  in  evening  dress; 
but  now  in  the  cheap,  ready-made  brown  velveteen 
coat  and  skirt  and  plain  toque  to  match,  which  had 
been  her  "best"  for  two  winters,  she  feared  lest  he 
should  find  her  commonplace. 

"The  first  thing  I  do,  when  he's  had  tune  to  look 
me  over,  must  be  to  tell  him  he's  free  if  he  wants  his 
freedom,"  she  decided.  And  she  kept  her  word, 
when  in  the  half -deserted  foyer  she  had  shaken  hands 
with  a  young  man  who  wore  a  white  rose  in  his  but- 
tonhole. "Please  tell  me  frankly  if  you  don't  like 
me  as  well  by  daylight,"  she  gasped. 

"I  like  you  better,"  he  said.  "You're  still  my 
white  rose.  See,  I've  adopted  it  as  your  symbol.  I 
shall  never  wear  any  other  flower  on  my  coat.  This 
is  yours.  No,  it's  you  !  And  I've  kept  the  one  I 
took  last  night.  I  mean  to  keep  it  always.  No 
danger  of  my  changing  my  mind!  But  you?  I've 
lain  awake  worrying  for  fear  you  might." 


92  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

He  held  her  hand,  questioning  her  eyes  with  his. 

She  shook  her  head,  smiling.  But  he  would  not  let 
the  hand  go.  At  that  hour  there  was  no  one  to 
stare.  "The  Countess  didn't  warn  you  off  me?'* 

Annesley  opened  her  eyes.  "  Of  course  not !  Why, 
you  told  me  you  were  old  friends!" 

"So  we  are — as  friends  go  in  this  world:  'pals,' 
anyhow.  She's  done  me  several  good  turns,  and 
I've  paid  her.  She'd  always  do  what  she  could  to 
help,  for  her  own  sake  as  well  as  mine.  But  her  idea 
of  a  man  may  be  different  from  yours." 

"She  wasn't  with  me  long,"  explained  Annesley. 
"She  said  I  needed  sleep.  After  she'd  looked  at  my 
room  to  see  if  it  were  comfortable,  she  bade  me  'good- 
night,' and  we  haven't  met  this  morning.  The  few 
remarks  she  did  make  about  you  were  compliment- 
ary." 

"What  did  she  say?     I'm  curious." 

"Well,  if  you  must  know,  she  said  that  you  were  a 
man  few  women  could  resist;  and — she  didn't  blame 
me." 

"H'm!  You  call  that  complimentary?  Let's 
suppose  she  meant  it  so.  Now  we'll  have  breakfast, 
and  forget  her — unless  you'd  like  her  called  to  go  with 
us  on  a  shopping  expedition  I've  set  my  heart  on." 

"What  kind  of  a  shopping  expedition?"  Annes- 
ley wanted  to  know. 

"To  buy  you  all  the  pretty  things  you've  ever 
wished  for." 

The  girl  laughed.  "To  do  that  would  cost  a 
fortune!" 


THE  BLUE  DIAMOND  RING  93 

"Then  we'll  spend  a  fortune.  Shall  you  and  I  do 
it  ourselves,  or  would  you  like  to  have  the  Countess 
de  Santiago's  taste?" 

"Oh,  let  us  go  without  her,"  Annesley  exclaimed, 
"unless  you " 

"Rather  not.  I  want  you  to  myself.  You  dar- 
ling !  We'll  have  a  great  day — spending  that  fortune. 
The  next  thing  we  do — it  can  wait  till  after  we're 
married — is  to  look  for  a  house  in  a  good  neighbour- 
hood, to  rent  furnished.  But  we'll  get  your  swell 
cousins,  Lord  and  Lady  Annesley-Seton,  to  help  us 
choose.  Perhaps  there'll  be  something  near  them." 

"Why,  they  hardly  know  I  exist !  I  doubt  if  Lady 
Annesley-Seton  does  know,"  replied  the  girl.  "They'll 
do  nothing  to  help  us,  I'm  sure." 

"Then  don't  be  sure,  because  if  you  made  a  bet 
you'd  lose.  Take  my  word,  they'll  be  pleased  to 
remember  a  cousin  who  is  marrying  a  millionaire." 

"Good  gracious!"  gasped  Annesley.  "Are  you  a 
millionaire?" 

Her  lover  laughed.  "Well,  I  don't  want  to  boast 
to  you,  though  I  may  to  your  cousins,  but  if  I'm  not 
one  of  your  conventional,  stodgy  millionaires,  I  have 
a  sort  of  Fortunatus  purse  which  is  never  empty. 
I  can  always  pull  out  whatever  I  want.  We'll  let 
your  people  understand  without  any  bragging. 

"I  think  Lady  Annesley-Seton,  nee  Miss  Haver- 
stall,  whose  father's  purse  has  flattened  out  like  a 
pancake,  will  jump  for  joy  when  she  hears  what  you 
want  her  to  do.  But  come  along,  let's  have  break- 
fast!" 


94  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

Overwhelmed,  Annesley  walked  beside  him  in 
silence  to  the  almost  deserted  restaurant  where  the 
latest  breakfasters  had  finished  and  the  earliest 
lunchers  had  not  begun. 

So  the  mysterious  Mr.  Smith  was  rich.  The  news 
frightened  rather  than  pleased  her.  It  seemed  to 
throw  a  burden  upon  her  shoulders  which  she  might 
not  be  able  to  carry  with  grace.  The  girl  had  little 
self-confidence;  but  the  man  appeared  to  be  troubled 
with  no  doubts  of  her  or  of  the  future.  Over  their 
coffee  and  toast  and  hot-house  fruit,  he  began  to 
propose  exciting  plans,  and  had  got  as  far  as  an 
automobile  when  the  voice  of  the  Countess  surprised 
them. 

She  had  come  close  to  their  table  without  being 
heard. 

"Good  morning!"  she  exclaimed.  "I  was  going 
out,  but  from  far  off  I  saw  you  two,  with  your  pro- 
files cut  like  silhouettes  against  all  this  glass  and  sun- 
shine. I  couldn't  resist  asking  how  Miss  Grayle 
slept,  and  if  there's  anything  I  can  do  for  her  in  the 
shops?" 

As  she  spoke  her  eyes  dwelt  on  Annesley's  plain 
toque  and  old-fashioned  shabby  coat,  as  if  to  em- 
phasize the  word  "shops."  The  girl  flushed,  and 
Smith  frowned  at  the  Countess. 

"No,  thank  you,"  he  replied  for  Annesley. 
"There's  nothing  we  need  trouble  you  about  till  the 
wedding  to-morrow  afternoon.  You  can  put  on 
your  gladdest  rags  then,  and  be  one  of  our  witnesses. 
I  believe  that's  the  legal  term,  isn't  it?" 


THE  BLUE  DIAMOND  RING  95 

"I  do  not  know,"  said  the  Countess  with  a  sup- 
pressed quiver  in  her  voice,  and  a  flash  in  the  eyes 
fixed  studiously  on  the  river.  "I  know  nothing  of 
marriages  in  England.  Who  will  be  your  other 
witness,  if  it's  not  indiscreet  to  ask?" 

"I  haven't  decided  yet,"  returned  Smith,  laconi- 
cally. 

"Ah,  of  course,  you  have  plenty  of  friends  to  choose 
from;  and  so  the  wedding  will  be  to-morrow?" 

"Yes.  One  fixes  up  these  things  in  next  to  no 
time  with  a  special  license.  Luckily  I'm  a  British 
subject.  I  never  thought  much  about  it  before,  but 
it  simplifies  matters ;  and  I'll  have  been  living  in  this 
parish  a  fortnight  to-morrow.  That's  providential, 
for  it  seems  that  legally  it  must  be  a  fortnight.  I've 
been  up  since  it  was  light,  learning  the  ropes  and 
beginning  to  work  them.  Even  the  hour's  fixed — 
two-thirty." 

(This  was  news  for  Annesley  also,  as  there  had  been 
no  time  to  begin  talking  over  the  "hundred  plans" 
Smith  had  mentioned  in  his  letter.) 

"You  are  prompt — and  businesslike!"  returned 
the  Countess,  and  again  the  girl  blushed.  She  did 
not  like  to  think  of  her  knight  of  romance  being 
"businesslike"  in  his  haste  to  make  her  his  wife. 
But  perhaps  the  Countess  didn't  mean  to  suggest 
anything  uncomplimentary.  "At  what  church  will 
the  'ceremony  take  place'  as  the  newspapers  say?" 
she  went  on.  "It  is  to  be  a  fashionable  one?" 

"No,"  replied,  Smith,  shortly.  "Weddings  in 
fashionable  churches  are  silly  unless  there's  to  be  a 


96  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

crowd;  and  my  wife  and  I  are  going  to  collect  our 
circle  after  we're  married.  I'll  let  you  know  in  time 
where  we  are  going.  As  you'll  be  with  the  bride 
you  can't  lose  yourself  on  the  way,  so  you  needn't 
worry." 

"I  don't!"  laughed  the  Countess.  "I'm  at  your 
service,  and  I  shall  try  to  be  worthy  of  the  occasion. 
But  now  I  shall  take  myself  off,  or  your  coffee  will  be 
cold.  You  have  a  busy  day  and  it's  late — even  later 
than  our  breakfasts  on  the  Monarchic  three  weeks 
ago.  Already  it  seems  three  months.  Au  revoir, 
Don.  Au  revoir,  Miss  Grayle." 

She  finished  with  a  nod  for  Annesley,  and  turned 
away.  Smith  let  her  go  in  silence;  and  the  girl 
watched  the  tall  figure — as  perfect  in  shape  and  as 
perfectly  dressed  as  a  French  model — walk  out  of  the 
restaurant  into  the  foyer. 

\  She  seemed  to  have  taken  with  her  the  golden 
glamour  which  had  made  up  for  lack  of  sunshine  in 
the  room  before  her  arrival;  or  if  she  had  not  taken  it, 
at  least  it  was  dimmed.  Annesley  gazed  after  the 
figure  until  it  disappeared,  because  she  felt  vaguely 
that  it  would  be  best  not  to  look  at  her  companion 
just  then.  She  knew  that  he  was  angry,  and  that  he 
wanted  to  compose  himself. 

The  Countess  was  as  handsome  by  morning  light, 
in  her  black  velvet  and  chinchilla,  as  at  night  in  flame 
colour  and  gold.  But — the  girl  hoped  she  was  not  ill- 
natured — she  looked  meretricious.  If  she  were  "made 
up,"  the  process  defied  Annesley  Grayle's  eyes;  yet 
surely  never  was  skin  so  flawlessly  white;  and  such 


THE  BLUE  DIAMOND  RING  97 

golden-red  hair  with  dark  eyes  and  eyebrows  must 
be  unique. 

"Great  Scott,  I  thought  she  meant  to  spend  the 
morning  with  us!"  Smith  broke  out,  viciously.  "I 
realize,  now  I've  seen  you  together,  that  she's  not — 
the  ideal  chaperon.  But  any  port  in  a  storm!" 

"I  thought  you  liked  her,"  Annesley  said. 

"So  I  do — within  limits.  At  least  I  appreciate 
qualities  that  she  has.  But  there  are  times — when 
a  little  of  her  goes  a  long  way." 

"I'm  afraid  she  realized  that  you  weren't  making 
her  welcome,"  Annesley  smiled.  "You  weren't  very 
nice  to  her,  were  you?" 

"I  was  as  nice  as  she  deserved,"  the  man  excused 
himself. 

"But  she  was  good  to  me  last  night!" 

" She  owes  it  to  me  to  be  good.  It's  a  debt  I  expect 
her  to  pay,  that's  all,  and  I'm  not  sure  she's  paying  it 
generously.  You  needn't  be  too  grateful,  dear." 

"Perhaps,  as  she's  known  you  some  time,  she  feels 
you're  sacrificing  yourself,"  Annesley  defended  the 
Countess.  "I  don't  blame  her!" 

"She's  sharp  enough  to  see  that  I'm  in  great  luck," 
said  Smith.  "But  I  suppose  there's  always  a  dash  of 
the  cat  in  a  woman  of  her  race.  I  hope  there's  no 
need  to  tell  you  that  she  has  no  right  to  be  jealous. 
If  she  had,  I  wouldn't  have  put  you  within  reach  of 
her  claws.  There  are  assorted  sizes  and  kinds  of 
jealousy,  though.  Some  women  want  all  the  lime- 
light and  grudge  sparing  any  for  a  younger  and 
prettier  girl." 


98  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

Annesley  laughed.  "Prettier!  Why,  she's  a 
beauty,  and  I " 

"Wait  till  I  introduce  you  to  Mrs.  Nelson  Smith, 
who's  going  to  be  one  of  the  best-dressed,  best-looking 
young  women  in  London,  and  you'll  be  sorry  for  the 
poor  old  Countess,"  returned  Smith,  warmly.  "You 
can  afford  then  to  heap  coals  of  fire  on  her  head, 
which  can't  make  it  redder  than  it  is.  Meanwhile, 
it  occurs  to  me,  from  the  way  the  wind  blows,  you'd 
better  go  carefully  with  the  lady!  Don't  let  her 
pump  you  about  yourself,  or  what  happened  at  Mrs. 
Ellsworth's.  It's  not  her  business.  Don't  confide 
any  more  than  you  need,  and  if  she  pretends  to 
confide  in  you  understand  that  it  will  be  for  a  purpose. 
The  Countess  is  no  ingenue  I 

"But  enough  about  her,"  he  went  on,  abruptly. 
"She  sha'n't  spoil  our  first  breakfast  together,  even 
by  reminding  me  of  gloomy  meals  I  used  sometimes 
to  eat  with  her  when  we  happened  to  find  ourselves 
in  each  other's  society  on  board  the  Monarchic.  I 
was  feeling  down  on  my  luck  then,  and  she  wasn't, 
the  one  to  cheer  me  up.  But  things  are  different 
now.  Have  you  noticed,  by  the  way,  that  she  has 
a  nickname  for  me?" 

"  Yes,"  Annesley  admitted.  " She  calls  you  'Don.' " 

"  It's  a  name  she  made  up  because  she  used  to  say, 
when  we  first  met,  I  was  like  a  Spaniard;  and  I  can 
jabber  Spanish  among  other  lingos.  It's  more  her 
native  tongue,  you  know,  than  English.  I  only  refer 
to  it  because  I  want  you  to  have  a  special  name  of 
your  own  for  me,  and  I  don't  want  it  to  be  that  one. 


THE  BLUE  DIAMOND  RING  99 

It  can't  be  Nelson,  because — well,  I  can  never  be  at 
home  as  Nelson  with  the  girl  I  love  best — the  one 
who  knows  how  I  came  to  call  myself  that.  Will 
you  make  up  a  name  for  me,  and  begin  to  get  used  to 
it  to-day  ?  I'd  like  it  if  you  could . ' ' 

"May  I  call  you  'Knight'?"  Annesley  asked, 
shyly.  "I've  named  you  my  knight  already  in  my 
mind  and — and  heart." 

He  looked  at  her  with  rather  a  beautiful  look: 
clear  and  wistful,  even  remorseful. 

"It's  too  noble  a  name,"  he  said.  "Still — if  you 
like  it,  I  shall.  Maybe  it  will  make  me  good.  Jove! 
it  would  take  something  strong  to  do  that!  But 
who  knows?  From  now  on  I'm  your  'Knight.' 
You  needn't  wrestle  with  'Nelson'  except  when  we're 
with  strangers. 

"And — look  here!"  he  broke  off.  "I've  another 
favour  to  ask.  Better  get  them  all  over  at  once — 
the  big  ones  that  are  hard  to  grant.  You  reminded 
me  last  night  that  we  wouldn't  be  legally  married 
if  I  didn't  use  my  own  name.  That  may  be  true. 
I  can't  very  well  make  inquiries.  But  just  in  case, 
I'm  giving  my  real  name  and  shall  sign  it  in  a  register. 
That's  why  our  marriage  must  be  quietly  performed 
in  a  quiet  place.  It  shall  be  hi  church,  because  I 
know  you  wouldn't  feel  married  if  it  wasn't,  but  it 
must  be  in  a  church  where  nobody  we're  likely  to 
meet  ever  goes;  and  the  parson  must  be  one  we 
won't  stand  a  chance  of  knocking  up  against  later. 

"Managed  the  way  I  shall  manage  it,  there'll  be 
no  difficulty.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Blank  will  walk  out  of 


100  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

the  vestry  after  they've  signed  their  names,  and— 
lose  themselves.  No  reason  why  they  should  ever 
be  associated  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Nelson  Smith.  Do 
you  much  mind  all  these  complications?" 

"Not  if  they're  necessary  to  save  you  from  dan- 
ger," the  girl  answered. 

"By  Jove,  you're  a  trump!  But  I  haven't  come 
to  the  big  favour  yet.  Now  for  it!  When  I  write 
my  real  name  in  the  register,  I  don't  want  you  to 
look.  Is  that  the  one  thing  too  much?" 

Annesley  tried  not  to  flinch  under  his  eyes.  Yet — 
he  had  put  her  to  a  severe  test.  Last  night,  when  he 
said  that  it  would  be  better  for  her  not  to  know  his 
name,  she  had  quietly  agreed. 

But  there  was  the  widest  difference  between  then 
and  now.  At  that  time  they  had  been  strangers 
flung  together  by  a  wave  of  fate  which,  it  seemed, 
might  tear  them  apart  at  any  instant.  In  a  few 
hours  all  was  changed.  They  belonged  to  each  other. 
This  man's  name  would  be  her  name,  yet  he  wished 
her  to  be  ignorant  of  it ! 

If  the  girl  had  not  thought  of  him  truly  as  her 
knight,  if  she  had  not  been  determined  to  trust  him, 
the  "big  favour"  would  indeed  have  been  too  big. 

Despite  her  trust,  and  the  romantic,  new-born  love 
in  her  heart,  she  was  unable  to  answer  for  a  moment. 
Her  breath  was  snatched  away;  but  as  she  struggled 
to  regain  it  and  to  speak,  a  bleak  picture  of  the  fu- 
ture without  him  rose  before  her  eyes.  She  couldn't 
give  him  up,  and  go  on  living,  after  the  glimpse  he 
had  shown  her  of  what  life  might  be! 


THE  BLUE  DIAMOND  RING          101 

"No,  it's  not  too  much,"  she  said,  slowly.  "It's 
only  part  of  the  trust  I've  promised  to — my  knight." 

He  gave  a  sigh  of  relief.  "Thank  you — and  my 
lucky  star  for  the  prize  you  are ! "  he  exclaimed.  Some 
men  would  have  offered  their  thanks  to  God,  or  to 
"Heaven."  Annesley  noticed  that  he  praised  his 
"star." 

This  was  one  of  many  disquieting  things,  large 
and  small;  for  she  had  been  brought  up  to  be  a  relig- 
ious girl,  and  was  mentally  on  her  knees  before  God 
in  gratitude  for  the  happiness  which  illuminated  her 
gray  life.  She  could  not  bear  to  think  that  God  was 
nothing  to  the  man  who  had  become  everything  to 
her.  She  wanted  to  shut  her  eyes  to  all  that  was 
strange  in  him;  but  it  was  as  difficult  as  for  Psyche 
to  resist  lighting  the  lantern  for  a  peep  at  her  mysteri- 
ous husband  in  his  sleep. 

For  instance,  there  was  the  Countess  de  Santiago's 
reference  to  their  association  on  board  the  Monarchic, 
which  Knight  had  refrained  from  mentioning.  He 
had  spoken  of  it  after  the  Countess  had  gone,  to  be 
sure;  but  briefly,  and  because  it  would  have  seemed 
odd  if  he  had  not  done  so.  It  had  struck  Annesley 
that  his  annoyance  with  the  lady  was  connected 
with  that  sharp  little  "dig"  of  hers,  and  she  could  not 
sweep  her  mind  clean  of  curiosity. 

The  moment  the  Monarchic' 's  name  was  brought  up 
she  remembered  reading  a  newspaper  paragraph 
about  the  last  voyage  of  that  great  ship  from  New 
York  to  Liverpool.  Fortunately  or  unfortunately, 
her  recollection  of  the  paragraph  was  nebulous, 


102 

for  when  she  read  news  aloud  to  her  mistress  she 
permitted  her  mind  to  wander,  unless  the  subject 
happened  to  be  interesting.  She  tried  to  keep  up  a 
vaguely  intelligent  knowledge  of  world  politics,  but 
small  events  and  blatant  sensations,  such  as  murders, 
burglaries,  and  "society"  divorces,  she  quickly 
erased  from  her  brain. 

Something  dramatic  had  occurred  on  the  Mon- 
archic. Her  subconscious  self  recalled  that.  But 
it  was  less  than  a  month  ago  that  she  had  read  the 
paragraph,  therefore  the  sensation,  whatever  it  was, 
must  have  happened  when  Knight  and  the  Countess 
de  Santiago  were  on  board,  coming  to  England,  and 
she  could  easily  learn  what  it  was  by  inquiring. 

Not  for  the  world,  however,  would  she  question  her 
lover,  to  whom  the  subject  of  the  trip  was  evidently 
distasteful.  Still  less  would  she  ask  the  Countess 
behind  his  back. 

There  was  another  way  in  which  she  could  find  out 
a  sly  voice  seemed  to  whisper  in  Annesley's  ear.  She 
could  get  old  numbers  of  the  Morning  Post,  the  only 
newspaper  that  entered  Mrs.  Ellsworth's  house,  and 
search  for  the  paragraph.  But  she  was  ashamed 
of  herself  for  letting  such  a  thought  enter  her  head. 
Of  course  she  would  not  be  guilty  of  a  trick  so  mean. 
She  would  not  try  to  unearth  one  fact  concerning  her 
Knight — his  name,  his  past,  or  any  circumstances 
surrounding  him,  even  though  by  stretching  out  her 
hand  she  could  reach  the  key  to  his  secret. 

He  talked  of  things  which  at  another  time  would 
have  palpitated  with  interest:  their  wedding,  their 


THE  BLUE  DIAMOND  RING          103 

honeymoon,  their  homecoming,  and  Annesley  re- 
sponded without  betraying  absent-mindedness.  It 
was  the  best  she  could  do,  until  the  effect  of  the 
"biggest  favour"  and  the  doubts  it  raised  were 
blurred  by  new  sensations.  She  would  not  have 
been  a  normal  woman  if  the  shopping  excursion 
planned  by  Knight  had  not  swept  her  off  her  feet. 

The  man  with  Fortunatus'  purse  seemed  bent  on 
trying  to  empty  it — temporarily — for  her  benefit: 
if  she  had  been  sent  out  alone  to  buy  everything  she 
had  ever  wanted,  with  no  regard  to  expense,  Annesley 
Grayle  would  not  have  spent  a  fifth  of  the  sum  he 
flung  away  on  evening  gowns,  street  gowns,  boudoir 
gowns,  hats,  high-heeled  paste-buckled  slippers,  a 
gold-fitted  dressing-bag,  an  ermine  wrap,  a  fur- 
lined  motor-coat,  and  more  suede  gloves  and  silk 
stockings  than  could  be  used  (it  seemed  to  the  girl) 
in  the  next  ten  years. 

He  begged  for  the  privilege  of  "helping  choose," 
not  because  he  didn't  trust  her  taste,  but  because 
he  feared  she  might  be  economical;  and  during  the 
whole  day  in  Bond  Street,  Regent  Street,  Oxford 
Street,  and  Knightsbridge  she  was  given  only  an 
hour  to  herself.  That  hour  she  was  expected  to 
pass,  and  did  pass,  in  providing  herself  with  all 
sorts  of  intimate  daintiness  of  nainsook,  lace,  and  rib- 
bon, too  sacred  even  for  a  lover's  eyes. 

And  Knight  spent  the  time  of  his  absence  from  her 
upon  an  errand  which  he  did  not  explain. 

"I'll  tell  you  what  I  did — and  show  you — to- 
morrow when  I  come  to  ^Tish  you  good  morning," 


104  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

he  said.  "Unless  you're  going  to  be  conventional 
and  refuse  to  see  me  till  we  'meet  at  the  altar,'  as  the 
sentimental  writers  say.  I  think  I've  heard  that's 
the  smart  thing.  But  I  hope  it  won't  be  your  way. 
If  I  didn't  see  you  from  now  till  to-morrow  afternoon 
I  should  be  afraid  I'd  lost  you  for  ever." 

Annesley  felt  the  same  about  him,  and  told  him  so. 
They  dined  together,  but  not  at  the  Savoy.  The 
Countess's  name  was  not  mentioned,  yet  Annesley 
guessed  it  was  because  of  her  that  Knight  proposed 
an  Italian  restaurant.  •* 

When  he  left  her  at  last  at  the  door  of  her  own 
hotel  everything  was  settled  for  the  wedding-day  and 
after.  Knight  was  to  produce  two  friends,  both 
men,  to  one  of  whom  must  fall  the  fatherly  duty  of 
giving  the  bride  away.  He  suggested  their  calling 
upon  her  in  the  morning,  while  he  was  with  her  at 
the  Savoy,  in  order  that  they  might  not  meet  as 
strangers  at  the  church,  and  the  girl  thought  this  a 
wise  idea. 

As  for  the  honeymoon,  Knight  confessed  to  know- 
ing little  of  England,  outside  London,  and  asked 
Annesley  if  she  had  a  choice.  Would  she  like  to 
have  a  week  or  so  in  some  warm  county  like  Devon- 
shire or  Cornwall,  or  would  she  enjoy  a  trip  to  Paris 
or  the  Riviera?  It  was  all  one  to  him,  he  assured 
her;  only  he  had  set  his  heart  on  getting  back  to 
London  soon,  finding  a  house,  and  beginning  life  as 
they  meant  to  live  it. 

Annesley  chose  Devonshire.  She  said  she  would 
like  to  show  it  to  Knight. 


THE  BLUE  DIAMOND  RING          105 

"I  think  you'll  love  it,"  she  told  him.  "We 
might  stay  at  several  places  I  used  to  adore  when  I 
was  a  child.  And  if  we  get  to  Sidmouth,  maybe 
you'll  have  a  glimpse  of  those  cousins  you  were  talk- 
ing about,  the  Annesley-Setons.  I  believe  they  have 
a  place  near  by  called  Valley  House;  but  I  don't 
know  whether  they  live  there  or  let  it." 

"We'll  go  to  Sidmouth,"  he  said. 

The  girl  smiled.  His  desire  that  she  should  scrape 
acquaintance  with  Lord  and  Lady  Annesley-Seton 
seemed  boyish  and  amusing  to  her,  but  she  did  not 
see  how  it  could  be  brought  about. 

Next  morning  at  eleven  o'clock,  when  Annesley 
had  been  up  for  two  hours,  packing  her  new  things  in 
her  new  trunks  and  the  gorgeous  new  dressing-bag, 
she  was  informed  that  Mr.  Nelson  Smith  had  arrived. 
The  girl  had  forgotten  that  Knight  had  hinted  at 
something  to  tell  and  something  to  show  her  on  the 
morning  of  their  marriage  day,  and  expected  to  find 
his  two  friends  with  him;  but  he  had  come  alone. 

"  We've  got  a  half -hour  together,"  he  said.  "  Then 
Dr.  Torrance  and  the  Marchese  di  Morello  may  turn 
up  at  any  minute.  Torrance  is  an  elderly  man,  a 
decent  sort  of  chap,  and  deadly  respectable.  He'll 
do  the  heavy  father  well  enough.  Paolo  di  Morello 
is  an  Italian.  I  don't  care  for  him;  but  the  trouble- 
some business  about  my  name  is  a  handicap. 

"I  can  trust  these  men.  And  at  least  they  won't 
put  you  to  shame.  You  can  judge  them  when  they 
come,  so  enough  talk  about  them  for  the  present! 
This  is  my  excuse  for  being  here,"  and  he  put  into 


106  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

Annesley's  hand  a  flat,  oval-shaped  parcel.  "My 
wedding  gift  to  my  bride,"  he  added,  in  a  softer  tone. 
"Open  it,  sweet." 

The  white  paper  wrapping  was  fastened  with  small 
red  seals.  If  the  girl  had  had  knowledge  of  such 
things  she  would  have  known  that  it  was  a  jeweller's 
parcel.  But  the  white,  gold-stamped  silk  case  within 
surprised  her.  She  pressed  a  tiny  knob,  and  the 
cover  flew  up  to  show  a  string  of  pearls  which  made 
her  gasp. 

"For  the  Princess,  from  her  Knight,"  he  said. 
"And  here" — he  took  from  the  inner  pocket  of  his 
coat  a  band  of  gold  set  with  a  big  white  diamond— 
"is  your  engagement  ring.  Every  girl  must  have 
one,  you  know,  even  if  her  engagement  is  the  shortest 
on  record.  I've  the  wedding  ring,  too.  But  it  isn't  the 
time  for  that.  A  good-sized  diamond's  the  obvious 
sort  of  thing:  advertises  itself  for  what  it  is,  and  that's 
what  we  want.  You'll  wear  it,  as  much  as  to  say, 
'I  was  engaged  like  everybody  else.'  But  if  there 
wasn't  a  reason  against  it,  this  is  what  I  should  like 
to  put  on  your  finger." 

As  he  spoke,  he  hid  the  spark  of  light  in  his  other 
hand,  and  from  the  pocket  whence  it  had  come  pro- 
duced another  ring. 

If  she  had  not  seen  this,  Annesley  would  have 
exclaimed  against  the  word  "obvious"  for  the 
splendid  brilliant  as  big  as  a  small  pea  which  Knight 
put  aside  so  carelessly.  But  the  contrast  between 
the  modern  ring  with  its  "solitaire"  diamond  and 
the  wonderful  rival  he  gave  it  silenced  her.  She 


THE  BLUE  DIAMOND  RING          107 

was  no  judge  of  jewellery,  and  had  never  possessed 
any  worth  having;  but  she  knew  that  this  second 
ring  was  a  rare  as  well  as  a  beautiful  antique.  It 
looked  worthy,  she  thought,  of  a  real  princess. 

Even  the  gold  was  different  from  other  gold,  the 
little  that  was  visible,  for  the  square-cut  stone,  of 
pale,  scintillating  blue,  was  surrounded  by  a  frame 
of  tiny  brilliants  encrusting  the  rim  as  far  as  could 
be  seen  on  the  back  of  the  hand  when  the  ring  was 
worn. 

* '  A  sapphire ! ' '  Annesley  exclaimed .  * '  My  favour- 
ite stone.  Yet  I  never  saw  a  sapphire  like  it  before. 
It's  wonderful — brighter  than  a  diamond." 

"It  is  a  diamond,"  said  Knight.  "A  blue  dia- 
mond, and  considered  remarkable.  It's  what  your 
friend  Ruthven  Smith  would  call  a  'museum  piece,' 
if  you  showed  it  to  him.  But  you  mustn't.  He'd 
move  heaven  and  earth  to  get  it!  Nobody  must 
see  it  but  you  and  me.  It  wouldn't  be  safe.  It's 
too  valuable.  And  if  you  were  known  to  have  it, 
you'd  be  in  danger  from  all  the  jewel  thieves  in  Eu- 
rope and  America.  You  wouldn't  like  that." 

"No,  it  would  be  horrible!"  Annesley  shuddered. 
"But  what  a  pity  it  must  be  hidden.  Is  it  yours?" 

"It's  yours  at  present,"  said  Knight,  "if  you'll 
keep  it  to  yourself,  and  look  at  it  only  when  you  and 
I  are  alone  together.  I  can't  give  it  to  you,  precisely, 
to  have  and  to  hold  (as  I  shall  give  you  myself  in  a 
few  hours),  because  this  ring  is  more  a  trust  than  a 
possession.  Something  may  happen  which  will  force 
me  to  ask  you  for  it.  But  again,  it  may  not.  And, 


108 

anyhow,  I  want  you  to  have  the  ring  until  that  time 
comes.  I've  bought  a  thin  gold  chain,  and  you  can 
hang  it  round  your  neck,  unless — I  almost  think  you're 
inclined  to  refuse?" 

Another  mystery!  But  the  blue  diamond  in  its 
scintillating  frame  was  so  alluring  that  Annesley 
could  not  refuse.  She  knew  that  she  would  have 
more  pleasure  in  peeping  surreptitiously  at  the  secret 
blue  diamond  than  in  seeing  the  "obvious"  white 
one  on  her  finger. 

"I  can't  give  it  up!"  she  said,  laughing.  "But  I 
hope  it  isn't  one  of  those  dreadful  historic  stones 
which  have  had  murders  committed  for  it,  like 
famous  jewels  one  reads  of.  I  should  hate  anything 
that  came  from  you  to  bring  bad  luck." 

"So  should  I  hate  it.  If  there's  any  bad  luck 
coming,  I  want  it  myself,"  Knigkt  said,  gravely. 

"I  wish  I  hadn't  spoken  of  bad  luck  to-day!"  the 
girl  remorsefully  exclaimed.  "But  I  am  not  afraid. 
Give  me  the  ring." 

He  gave  it,  and  pulled  from  his  pocket  the  slight 
gold  chain  on  which  he  meant  it  to  hang.  He  was 
leisurely  threading  the  ring  upon  this  when  two  men 
looked  in  at  the  door  of  the  reading  room. 

One  of  the  pair  was  of  more  than  middle  age.  He 
was  tall,  thin,  and  slightly  stooping.  His  respect- 
able clothes  seemed  too  loose  for  him.  His  hair  and 
straggling  beard  were  gray,  contrasting  with  the 
sallow  darkness  of  his  skin.  He  wore  gold-rimmed 
spectacles,  and  peered  through  them  as  if  they  were 
not  strong  enough  for  his  failing  sight. 


109 

The  other  man  was  younger.  He,  too,  was  dark 
and  sallow,  but  his  close-cut  hair  was  black.  He 
•was  clean  shaven  and  well  dressed.  He  wore  a  high, 
almost  painfully  high,  collar,  which  caused  him  to 
keep  his  chin  in  air.  He  might  be  a  Spaniard  or  an 
Italian. 

Annesley  had  certainly  not  seen  him  before.  She 
told  herself  this  twice  over.  Yet — she  was  fright- 
ened. There  was  something  familiar  about  him. 
It  must  be  her  foolish  imagination  which  took  alarm 
at  everything! 

But,  with  fingers  grown  cold,  she  covered  up  the 
blue  diamond. 


CHAPTER  IX 
THE  THING  KNIGHT  WANTED 

WHEN  Dr.  Torrance,  who  was  to  give  her  away, 
and  the  Marchese  di  Morello,  who  was  to  be  Knight's 
"best  man,"  had  been  introduced  to  Annesley,  she 
laughed  at  the  stupid  "scare"  which  had  chilled  her 
heart  for  a  moment. 

If  Knight  had  remained  with  her  after  his  friends 
finished  their  call,  she  might  have  confessed  to  him 
how  she  had  fancied  in  the  tall,  dark  young  man  a 
likeness  to  one  of  the  dreaded  watchers.  Until 
Knight  spoke  their  names  she  had  feared  that  the 
pair  looking  in  at  the  door  were  there  to  spy;  that 
one,  at  all  events,  was  disguised — cleverly,  yet  not 
cleverly  enough  quite  to  hide  his  identity.  But  Knight 
said  good-bye,  and  went  away  with  his  friends,  giving 
the  girl  no  chance  for  further  talk  with  him. 

They  did  not  meet  again  until — with  the  Countess 
de  Santiago — Annesley  arrived  at  the  obscure  church 
chosen  for  the  marriage  ceremony.  There  Dr. 
Torrance  awaited  them  outside  the  door,  and  took 
charge  of  the  bride,  while  the  Countess  found  her 
way  in  alone;  and  Annesley  saw  through  the  mist  of 
confused  emotion  her  Knight  of  love  and  mystery 
waiting  at  the  altar. 

no 


THE  THING  KNIGHT  WANTED       111 

During  the  ceremony  that  followed  he  made  his 
responses  firmly,  his  eyes  calling  so  clearly  to  hers 
that  she  answered  with  an  almost  hypnotized  gaze. 
His  look  seemed  to  seal  the  promise  of  his  words.  In 
spite  of  all  that  was  strange  and  secret  and  unsatis- 
fying about  him,  she  had  no  regrets.  Love  was 
worth  everything,  and  she  could  but  believe  that 
he  loved  her.  This  strong  conviction  went  with 
the  girl  to  the  vestry,  and  made  it  easier  to  turn 
away  when  his  name — his  real  name,  which  she, 
though  his  wife,  was  not  to  know — was  recorded  by 
him  hi  the  book. 

They  parted  from  Torrance,  Morello,  and  the 
Countess  at  the  church  door,  an  arrangement  which 
delighted  Annesley.  In  the  haste  of  making  plans, 
she  and  Knight  had  forgotten  to  discuss  what  they 
were  to  do  after  the  wedding  and  before  their  de- 
parture; but  Knight  had  found  time  to  decide  the 
matter. 

"These  people  were  the  best  material  I  could  get 
hold  of  at  a  moment's  notice,"  he  remarked,  coolly, 
when  he  and  Annesley  were  in  the  motor-car  he  had 
hired  for  the  journey  to  Devonshire.  "We've  used 
them  because  we  needed  them.  Now  we  don't  need 
them  any  longer.  It  seems  to  me  that  a  newly 
married  couple  ought  to  keep  only  dear  friends 
around  them  or  no  one.  Later  we  can  repay  these 
three  for  the  favour  they've  done  us,  if  you  call 
it  a  favour.  Meanwhile,  we'll  forget  them." 

Knight  had  neglected  no  detail  which  could  make 
for  Annesley's  comfort,  or  save  her  from  any  em- 


112  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

barrassment  arising  from  the  hurried  wedding.  Her 
luggage  had  been  packed  by  a  maid  in  the  hotel, 
and — all  but  the  dressing-bag  and  a  small  box  made 
for  an  automobile — sent  ahead  by  rail  to  Devonshire. 
She  and  Knight  were  to  travel  in  the  comfortable 
limousine  which  would  protect  them  against  weather. 
It  did  not  matter,  Knight  said,  how  long  they  were  on 
the  way. 

At  Exeter  they  would  visit  some  good  agency  in 
search  of  a  lady's  maid.  Annesley  said  that  she  did 
not  need  a  woman  to  wait  on  her,  since  she  had  been 
accustomed  not  only  to  taking  care  of  herself  but 
Mrs.  Ellsworth. 

Knight,  however,  insisted  that  his  wife  must  be 
looked  after  by  a  competent  woman.  It  was  "the 
right  thing";  but  his  idea  was  that,  in  the  circum- 
stances, it  would  be  pleasanter  to  have  a  country  girl 
than  a  sharp,  London-bred  woman  or  a  Parisienne. 

In  Exeter  an  ideal  person  was  obtainable:  a  Devon- 
shire girl  who  had  been  trained  to  a  maid's  duties 
(as  the  agent  boasted)  by  a  "lady  of  title."  She  had 
accompanied  "the  Marchioness"  to  Prance,  and 
had  had  lessons  in  Cannes  from  a  hair  dresser,  mas- 
seuse, and  manicurist.  Now  her  mistress  was  dead, 
and  Parker  was  in  search  of  another  place. 

She  was  a  gentle,  sweet-looking  girl,  and  though 
she  asked  for  wages  higher  than  Mrs.  Ellsworth  had 
paid  her  companion,  Knight  pronounced  them  rea- 
sonable. She  was  directed  to  go  by  train  to  the 
Knowle  Hotel  at  Sidmouth  (where  a  suite  had  been 
engaged  by  telegram  for  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Nelson  Smith 


THE  THING  KNIGHT  WANTED      113 

and  maid)  and  to  have  all  the  luggage  unpacked 
before  their  arrival. 

Flung  thus  into  intimate  association  with  a  man, 
almost  a  stranger,  Annesley  had  been  afraid  in  the 
midst  of  her  happiness.  She  felt  as  a  young  Christian 
maiden,  a  prisoner  of  Nero's  day,  might  have  felt  if 
told  she  was  to  be  flung  to  a  lion  miraculously  sub- 
dued by  the  influence  of  Christianity.  Such  a 
maiden  could  not  have  been  quite  sure  whether  the 
story  were  true  or  a  fable;  whether  the  lion  would 
destroy  her  with  a  blow  or  crouch  at  her  feet. 

But  Annesley 's  lion  neither  struck  nor  crouched. 
He  stood  by  her  side  as  a  protector.  "Knight" 
seemed  more  and  more  appropriate  as  a  name  for 
him.  Though  there  were  roughnesses  and  crude- 
nesses  in  his  manner  and  choice  of  words,  all  he  did 
and  said  made  Annesley  sure  that  she  had  been  right 
in  her  first  impression.  Not  a  cultured  gentleman 
like  Archdeacon  Smith,  or  Annesley's  dead  father, 
and  the  few  men  who  had  come  near  her  in  early 
childhood  before  her  home  fell  to  pieces,  he  was  a 
gentleman  at  heart,  she  told  herself,  and  in  all 
essentials. 

It  struck  her  as  beautiful  and  even  pathetic,  rather 
chan  contemptible,  that  he  should  humbly  wish  to 
learn  of  her  the  small  refinements  he  had  missed  in 
the  past — that  mysterious  past  which  mattered  less 
and  less  to  Annesley  as  the  present  became  dear  and 
vital. 

"I've  knocked  about  a  lot,  all  over  the  world,"  he 
explained  in  a  casual  way  during  a  talk  they  had  had  on 


114  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

the  night  of  their  marriage,  at  the  first  stopping-place 
to  which  their  motor  brought  them.  "My  mother 
died  when  I  was  a  small  boy,  died  in  a  terrible  way  I 
don't  want  to  talk  about,  and  losing  her  broke  up 
my  father  and  me  for  a  while.  He  never  got  over 
it  as  long  as  he  lived,  and  I  never  will  as  long  as  I 
live. 

"The  way  my  father  died  was  almost  as  tragic 
as  my  mother's  death,"  he  went  on  after  a  tense 
moment  of  remembering.  "I  was  only  a  boy  even 
then;  and  ever  since  the  'knocking-about'  process 
has  been  going  on.  I  haven't  seen  much  of  the  best 
side  of  life,  but  I've  wanted  it.  That  was  why,  for 
one  reason,  you  made  such  an  appeal  to  me  at  first 
sight.  You  were  as  plucky  and  generous  as  any 
Bohemian,  though  I  could  see  you  were  a  delicate, 
inexperienced  girl,  brought  up  under  glass  like  the 
orchid  you  look — and  are.  I'm  used  to  making  up 
my  mind  in  a  hurry — I've  had  to — so  it  didn't  take 
me  many  minutes  to  realize  that  if  I  could  get  you 
to  link  up  with  me,  I  should  have  the  thing  I'd  been 
looking  for. 

"Well,  by  the  biggest  stroke  of  luck  I've  got  you, 
sooner  than  I  could  have  dared  to  hope;  and  now  I 
don't  want  to  make  you  afraid  of  me.  I  know  my 
faults  and  failings,  but  I  don't  know  how  to  put  them 
right  and  be  the  sort  of  man  a  girl  like  you  can  be 
proud  of.  It's  up  to  you  to  show  me  the  way. 
Whenever  you  see  me  going  wrong,  you're  to  tell  me. 
That's  what  I  want — turn  me  into  a  gentleman." 

When  Annesley  tenderly  reassured  him  with  loving 


THE  THING  KNIGHT  WANTED       115 

flatteries,  he  only  laughed  and  caught  her  in  his 
arms. 

"Like  a  prince,  am  I?"  he  echoed.  "Well,  I've 
got  princely  blood  in  my  veins  through  my  mother; 
but  there  are  pauper  princes,  and  in  the  pauper  busi- 
ness the  gilding  gets  rubbed  off.  I  trust  you  to 
gild  my  battered  corners.  No  good  trying  to  tell  me 
I'm  gold  all  through,  because  I  know  better;  but 
when  you've  made  me  shine  on  the  outside,  I'll 
keep  the  surface  bright." 

Annesley  did  not  like  the  persistent  way  in  which 
he  spoke  of  himself  as  a  black  sheep  who,  at  best, 
could  be  whitened,  and  trained  not  to  disgrace  the 
fold;  yet  it  piqued  her  interest.  Books  said  that 
women  had  a  weakness  for  men  who  were  not  good 
and  she  supposed  that  she  was  like  the  rest.  He 
was  so  dear  and  chivalrous  that  certain  defiant  hints 
as  to  his  lack  of  virtue  vaguely  added  to  the  spice  of 
mystery  which  decorated  the  background  of  the 
picture — the  vivid  picture  of  the  "stranger  knight." 

When  they  had  been  for  three  days  in  the  best 
suite  at  the  Knowle  Hotel,  and  had  made  several 
short  excursions  with  the  motor,  he  asked  the  girl 
if  she  "felt  like  getting  acquainted  with  her  cousins." 

She  did  not  protest  as  she  had  at  first.  Already 
she  knew  her  Knight  well  enough  to  be  assured  that 
when  he  resolved  to  do  a  thing  it  was  practically  done. 
She  had  had  chances  to  realize  his  force  of  character 
in  little  ways  as  well  as  big  ones;  and  she  understood 
that  he  was  bent  on  scraping  acquaintance  with 
Lord  and  Lady  Annesley-Seton.  Had  he  not  de- 


116  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

cided  upon  Sidmouth  the  instant  she  mentioned  their 
ownership  of  a  place  in  the  neighbourhood?  She 
had  been  certain  that  he  would  not  neglect  the  op- 
portunity created. 

"How  are  we  to  set  about  it?"  was  all  she  said. 

"Oh,  Valley  House  is  a  show  place,  I  suppose 
you  know,"  replied  Knight.  "I've  looked  it  up  in 
the  local  guide-book.  It's  open  to  the  public  three 
days  a  week.  Any  one  with  a  shilling  to  spare  can 
see  the  ancestral  portraits  and  treasures,  and  the 
equally  ancestral  rooms  of  your  distinguished  family. 
Does  that  interest  you?  " 

"Ye-es.  But  I'm  a  distant  relation — as  well  as  a 
poor  one,"  Annesley  reminded  him  with  her  old 
humility. 

"You're  not  poor  now.  And  blood  is  thicker  than 
water — when  it's  in  a  golden  cup.  It's  Lord  and 
Lady  Annesley-Seton's  turn  to  play  the  poor  rela- 
tions. It  seems  they're  stony.  Even  the  shillings 
the  public  pay  to  see  the  place  are  an  object  to  them." 

"Oh,  I'm  sorry!"  exclaimed  Annesley. 

"That's  generous,  seeing  they  never  bothered 
themselves  about  you  when  they  had  plenty  of 
shillings  and  you  had  none." 

"I  don't  suppose  they  knew  there  was  a  me." 

"Lord  Annesley-Seton  must  have  known,  if  his 
wife  didn't  know.  But  we'll  let  that  pass.  I  was 
thinking  we  might  go  to  the  house  on  one  of  the  public 
days,  with  the  man  who  wrote  the  local  guide-book. 
I've  made  his  acquaintance  through  writing  him  a 
note,  complimenting  him  on  his  work  and  his  knowl- 


THE  THING  KNIGHT  WANTED       117 

edge  of  history.  He  answered  like  a  shot,  with 
thanks  for  the  appreciation,  and  said  if  he  could  help 
me  he'd  be  delighted.  He's  the  editor  of  a  news- 
paper in  Torquay. 

"If  we  invite  him  to  lunch  here  at  the  Knowle, 
he'll  fall  over  himself  to  accept.  Then  we'll  be  able 
to  kill  two  birds  with  one  stone.  He'll  tell  us  things 
about  the  heirlooms  at  Valley  House  we  shouldn't  be 
able  to  find  out  without  his  help — or  a  lot  of  dreary 
drudgery — and  also  he'll  put  a  paragraph  about  us  in 
his  newspaper,  which  he'll  send  to  your  cousins. 
Now,  isn't  that  a  combination  of  brilliant  ideas?'* 

"Yes,"  laughed  Annesley.  "But  why  should 
you  take  so  much  trouble — and  how  can  you  tell  that 
the  editor's  paragraph  would  make  the  Annesley- 
Setons  want  to  know  us?" 

"As  for  the  paragraph,  you  may  put  your  faith  in 
me.  And  as  for  the  trouble,  nothing's  too  much  to 
launch  my  wife  on  the  top  wave  of  society,  where 
she  has  every  right  to  be.  I  want  Mrs.  Nelson  Smith 
to  have  her  chance  to  shine.  Money  would  do  the 
trick  sooner  or  later,  but  I  want  it  to  be  done 
sooner.  Besides,  I  have  a  feeling  I  should  like  us  to 
get  where  we  want  to  be,  without  the  noisy  splash 
money-bags  make  when  new-rich  candidates  for 
society  are  launched.  Your  people  will  see  excel- 
lent reasons  why  their  late  'poor  relation'  is  worth 
cultivating. 

"But  trust  them  to  save  their  faces  by  keeping 
their  real  motive  secret!"  with  a  touch  of  sarcasm. 
"I  seem  to  hear  them  going  about  among  their 


118  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

friends,  whom  they'll  invite  to  meet  us,  saying  how 
charming  and  unspoilt  you  are  though  you've  got 
more  money  than  you  know  what  to  do  with — 

"I!"  With  the  protesting  pronoun  Annesley 
disclaimed  all  ownership  of  her  husband's  fortune, 
whatever  it  might  be. 

"It's  the  same  thing.  You  and  I  are  one.  What- 
ever is  mine  is  yours.  I  don't  swear  to  make  you  a 
regular,  unfailing  allowance  worthy  of  the  new  posi- 
tion you're  going  to  have,  because  you  see  I  do  busi- 
ness with  several  countries,  and  my  income's  erratic; 
I'm  never  sure  to  the  day  when  it  will  come  or  how 
much  it  will  be.  But  there's  nothing  you  want  which 
you  can't  buy;  remember  that.  And  when  we  begin 
life  in  London,  you  shall  have  a  standing  account  at 
as  many  shops  as  you  like." 

Annesley  made  no  objection  to  Knight's  plan  for 
luring  the  journalist  into  his  "trap,"  which  was  a 
harmless  one.  According  to  his  prophecy,  Mr. 
Milton  Savage  of  the  Torquay  Weekly  Messenger  ac- 
cepted the  invitation  from  his  correspondent,  and 
came  to  luncheon  on  the  day  when  the  public  were 
free  to  view  Valley  House. 

He  was  a  small  man  with  a  big  head  and  eyes 
which  glinted  large  behind  convex  spectacles.  Annes- 
ley was  charming  to  him,  not  only  in  the  wish  to 
please  Knight  but  because  she  was  kind-hearted  and 
had  intense  sympathy  for  suppressed  people.  Mr. 
Savage  was  grateful  and  admiring,  and  drank  in 
every  word  Knight  dropped,  as  if  carelessly,  about 
the  relationship  to  Lord  Annesley-Seton. 


THE  THING  KNIGHT  WANTED       119 

Knight  allowed  himself  to  be  pumped  concerning 
it,  and  also  his  wife's  parentage,  letting  fall,  with  ap- 
parent inadvertence,  bits  of  information  regarding 
himself,  his  travels,  his  adventures,  and  the  fortune 
he  had  picked  up. 

"I'm  the  exception,"  he  said,  "to  the  proverb  that 
'a  rolling  stone  gathers  no  moss.'  I've  gathered  all 
I  want  or  know  what  to  do  with;  and  now  I'm  mar- 
ried I  mean  to  take  a  rest.  I  haven't  decided  yet 
where  or  how,  but  it  will  be  somewhere  in  England. 
We're  looking  for  a  house  in  London,  and  later  we 
might  rent  one  in  the  country,  too." 

Annesley  admired  his  cleverness  in  touching  the 
goal ;  but  somehow  these  smart  hits  disturbed  rather 
than  amused  her.  Knight's  complexity  was  a  puzzle 
to  her.  She  could  not  understand,  despite  his  ex- 
planations, why  these  fireworks  of  dexterity  were 
worth  while.  Knight  was  a  brave  figure  of  romance. 
She  did  not  want  her  hero  turned  into  an  intriguer, 
no  matter  how  innocent  his  motive. 

After  luncheon  they  drove  five  or  six  miles  in  the 
motor  to  Valley  House,  a  place  of  Jacobean  time*. 
There  was  an  Italian  garden,  and  an  English  garden 
containing  every  flower,  plant,  and  herb  mentioned 
by  Shakespeare.  Each  garden  had  a  distant  view  of 
the  sea,  darkly  framed  by  Lebanon  cedars  and  im- 
mense beeches,  while  the  house  itself— not  large  as 
"show"  houses  go — was  perfect  of  its  kind,  with 
carved  stone  mantels,  elaborate  oak  panelling  and 
staircases,  leaded  windows,  and  treasures  of  por- 
traits, armour,  ancient  books,  and  bric-a-brac  which 


120  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

would  have  remade  the  family  fortune  if  all  had  not 
been  heirlooms. 

There  was  not  a  picture  on  Che  walls  nor  an  old 
piece  of  jewellery  in  the  many  locked  glass  cabinets 
of  which  Mr.  Milton  Savage  could  not  tell  the  history 
as  he  guided  the  Nelson  Smiths  through  hall  and 
corridors  and  rooms  with  marvellous  moulded  ceil- 
ings. The  liveried  servant  told  off  to  show  the  crowd 
over  the  house  had  but  a  superficial  knowledge  of  its 
riches  compared  with  the  lore  of  the  journalist;  and 
the  editor  of  the  Torquay  Weekly  Messenger  became 
inconveniently  popular  with  the  public. 

He  was  not  blind  to  the  compliment,  however; 
and,  motoring  into  Torquay  at  the  end  of  the  after- 
noon with  his  host  and  hostess,  expressed  himself 
delighted  with  his  visit. 

That  night  was  his  night  for  going  to  press,  but 
he  found  time  to  write  the  paragraph  which  Nelson 
Smith  expected.  Next  morning  a  copy  of  the 
Messenger,  with  a  page  marked,  arrived  at  the 
Knowle  Hotel,  and  another,  also  marked,  went  to 
Valley  House. 

The  bride  and  bridegroom  were  at  breakfast  when 
the  paper  came.  There  were  also  three  letters,  all 
for  Knight,  the  first  which  either  had  received  since 
their  marriage. 

Knight  cut  open  the  envelopes  slowly,  one  after 
the  other,  and  made  no  comment.  Annesley  could 
not  help  wondering  if  the  Countess  had  written,  for 
an  involuntary  glance  had  made  her  sure  that  one 
of  Knight's  letters  was  from  a  woman:  a  purple 


THE  THING  KNIGHT  WANTED       121 

envelope  with  a  purple  monogram  and  a  blob  of 
purple  wax  sealed  with  a  crown.  He  read  all  three, 
put  them  back  into  their  envelopes,  rose,  dropped  them 
into  the  fire,  watched  them  burn  to  ashes,  and  quietly 
returned  to  his  seat.  Then,  as  if  really  interested, 
he  tore  the  wrapping  off  the  Torquay  Messenger. 

"Now  we  shall  see  ourselves  hi  print!"  he  said,  and 
a  moment  later  was  reading  to  Annesley  an  account 
of  "the  two  most  interesting  guests  the  Knowle 
Hotel  has  entertained  this  season."  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Nelson  Smith  were  described  with  enthusiasm.  They 
were  young  and  handsome.  He  was  immensely  rich, 
she  was  "highly  connected"  as  well  as  beautiful, 
having  been  a  Miss  Annesley  Grayle,  related  on  her 
mother's  side  to  the  Earl  of  Annesley-Seton. 

The  modesty  of  the  young  couple  was  so  great, 
however,  that,  though  the  bridegroom  was  a  mil- 
lionaire well  known  in  his  adopted  country,  America, 
and  the  bride  quite  closely  linked  with  his  lord- 
ship's family,  they  had  refused  to  make  their  presence 
in  the  neighbourhood  known  to  the  Earl  and  Lady. 
Instead  they  had  visited  Valley  House  with  a 
crowd  of  tourists  on  a  public  day,  expressing  the 
opinion  to  a  representative  of  the  Messenger  that  it 
would  be  "intrusive"  to  present  themselves  to  Lord 
and  Lady  Annesley-Seton.  They  were  spending 
their  honeymoon  in  Devonshire,  and  might  find, 
during  their  motor  tours,  a  suitable  country  place  to 
buy  or  rent. 

In  any  case,  they  would  look  for  a  house  in  which 
to  settle  on  their  return  to  London. 


122  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

"Good  for  Milton  Savage,"  laughed  Knight. 
"Now  we'll  lie  low,  and  see  what  will  happen." 

Annesley  thought  that  nothing  would  happen; 
but  she  was  wrong.  The  next  morning  a  note  came 
by  hand  for  Mrs.  Nelson  Smith,  brought  by  a  foot- 
man on  a  bicycle. 

The  note  was  from  Lady  Annesley-Setoa. 


CHAPTER  X 
BEGINNING   OF   THE   SERIES 

No  MAN  who  had  not  known  the  seamy  side  of  life 
could  have  guessed  the  effect  of  Milton  Savage's 
paragraph  upon  the  minds  of  Lord  and  Lady  Annes- 
ley-Seton. 

"I  told  you  if  you  bet  against  me  you  would  bet 
wrong,"  Knight  said,  when  the  astonished  girl  handed 
the  letter  across  the  breakfast  table.  Even  he  had 
hardly  reckoned  on  such  extreme  cordiality.  He  had 
expected  a  bid  for  acquaintanceship  with  the  "mil- 
lionaire" and  his  bride,  but  he  had  fancied  there 
would  be  a  certain  stiffness  in  the  effort. 

Lady  Annesley-Seton  had  begun,  "My  dear  Cou- 
sin," and  her  frank  American  way  was  disarm- 
ing. She  wrote  four  pages  of  apology  for  herself 
and  her  husband,  explaining  why  they  had  neglected 
"looking  up  Mrs.  Nelson  Smith  when  she  was  Miss 
Annesley  Grayle."  The  letter  went  on: 

I  hadn't  been  married  long  when  my  husband  read  out  of  some 
newspaper  the  notice  of  a  clergyman's  death,  and  mentioned  that 
he  was  a  cousin  by  marriage  whom  he  hadn't  met  since  boyhood, 
although  the  clergyman's  living  was  in  our  county — somewhere 
off  at  the  other  end. 

My  husband  thought  there  was  a  daughter,  and  I  remember 

123 


124  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

his  remarking  that  we  ought  to  write  and  find  out  if  she'd  been 
left  badly  off.  Of  course,  it  was  my  duty  to  have  kept  his  idea 
alive,  and  to  have  carried  it  out.  But  I  was  young  and  having 
such  a  good  time  that  I'm  afraid  it  was  a  case  of  "out  of  sight, 
out  of  mind." 

We  forgot  to  inquire,  and  heard  no  more.  It  was  horrid  of  us, 
and  I'm  sure  it  was  our  loss.  Probably  we  should  have  remem- 
bered if  things  had  gone  well  with  us :  but  perhaps  you  know  that 
my  father  (whose  money  used  to  seem  unlimited  to  me)  lost  it  all, 
and  we  were  mixed  up  in  the  smash.  We've  been  poorer  than 
any  church  mice  since,  and  trying  to  make  ends  meet  has  occupied 
our  attention  from  that  day  to  this. 

I  have  to  confess  that,  if  our  attention  hadn't  been  drawn  to 
your  name,  we  might  never  have  thought  of  it  again.  But  now 
I've  eased  my  conscience,  and  as  fate  seems  to  have  brought  us 
within  close  touch,  do  let  us  see  what  she  means  to  do  with  us. 
We  should  so  like  to  meet  you  and  Mr.  Nelson  Smith,  who  is, 
apparently,  more  or  less  a  countryman  of  mine. 

I'm  not  allowed  out  yet,  in  this  cold  weather,  after  an  attack 
of  "flu";  but  my  husband  will  call  this  afternoon  on  the  chance 
of  finding  you  in,  carrying  a  warm  invitation  to  you  both  to 
" waive  ceremony"  and  dine  with  us  at  Valley  House  enfamille. 

Looking  forward  to  meeting  you, 

Yours  most  cordially, 
CONSTANCE  ANNESLEY-SETON. 

"Sweet  of  her,  isn't  it?"  Annesley  exclaimed  when 
she  and  Knight  had  read  the  letter  through. 

Knight  glanced  at  his  wife  quizzically,  opened  his 
lips  to  speak,  and  closed  them.  Perhaps  he  thought 
it  would  be  unwise  as  well  as  wrong  to  disturb  the 
girl's  faith  in  Lady  Annesley-Seton's  disinterested- 
ness. 

"Yes,  it's  real  sweet!'*  he  said,  exaggerating  his 
American  accent,  but  keeping  a  grave  face. 


BEGINNING  OF  THE  SERIES         125 

They  were  duly  "at  home"  that  afternoon,  though 
they  had  intended  to  go  out,  and  the  caller  found 
them  in  a  private  sitting  room  filled  with  flowers, 
suggesting  much  money  and  a  love  of  spending  it. 
Annesley  had  put  on  Knight's  favourite  frock,  one 
of  the  "model  dresses"  he  had  chosen  for  her  in  their 
whirlwind  rush  through  Bond  Street,  a  white  cloth 
trimmed  with  narrow  bands  of  dark  fur;  and  she  had 
never  looked  prettier. 

Lord  Annesley -Seton,  a  tall  thin  man  of  the  eagle- 
nosed  soldier  type,  wearing  pince-nez,  but  youthful- 
looking  for  the  forty-four  years  Burke  gave  him, 
could  not  help  thinking  her  a  satisfactory  cousin  to 
pick  up:  and  Nelson  Smith  was  far  from  being  in 
appearance  the  rough,  self-made  man  he  had  dreaded. 

He  was  delighted  with  them  both — so  young,  so 
handsome,  so  happy,  so  fortunate,  and  luckily  so  well 
bred.  He  did  not  make  the  short  conventional  call 
he  had  intended,  but  stayed  to  tea,  and  at  last  went 
home  to  give  his  wife  an  enthusiastic  account  of  the 
visit. 

"  The  girl's  a  lady,  and  might  be  a  beauty  if  she  had 
more  confidence  in  herself — you  know  what  I  mean: 
taking  herself  for  granted  as  a  charmer,  the  way  you 
smart  women  do,"  he  said.  "She  isn't  that  kind. 
But  with  you  to  show  her  the  ropes,  she'll  be  liked 
by  the  right  people.  There's  a  softness  and  sweet- 
ness and  genuineness  that  you  don't  often  see  in  girls 
now.  As  for  the  man,  you'll  think  him  a  ripper, 
Connie — so  will  other  women.  Has  the  air  of  being 
a  gentleman  born,  and  then  having  roughed  it  all  over 


126  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

the  world.  A  strong  man,  I  should  say.  A  man's 
man  as  well  as  a  woman's.  Might  'take'  if  he's 
started  right." 

"We'll  see  to  that,"  said  Constance  Annesley- 
Seton,  who  was  not  too  ill  to  go  out  but  had  not 
wanted  to  seem  too  eager. 

She  was  less  than  thirty,  but  looked  more  because 
she  had  worried  and  drawn  faint  lines  between  her 
delicate  auburn  brows  and  at  the  corners  of  her 
greenish-gray  eyes.  There  were  also  a  few  fading 
threads  in  the  red  locks  which  were  her  one  real 
beauty;  but  she  had  a  marvellous  hair- varnish  which 
prevented  them  from  showing. 

"We'll  see  to  that!  If  they'll  let  us.  Are  they 
going  to  let  us?" 

"Yes,  I  think  so,"  Annesley-Seton  reassured  her. 
"They're  a  pair  of  children,  willing  to  be  guided. 
They  can  have  anything  they  want  in  the  world,  but 
they  don't  seem  to  know  what  to  want." 

"Splendid!"  laughed  Constance.  "Can't  we  will 
them  to  want  our  house  in  town,  and  invite  us  to 
visit  them?" 

"I  shouldn't  wonder,"  replied  her  husband.  "You 
might  make  a  start  in  that  direction  when  they  come 
to  dinner  to-morrow  evening." 

Lord  Annesley-Seton  had  outgrown  such  en- 
thusiasms as  he  might  once  have  had,  therefore  his 
account  of  the  cousins  encouraged  Constance  to  hope 
much,  and  she  was  not  disappointed.  On  the  con- 
trary, she  thought  that  he  had  not  said  enough, 
especially  about  the  man. 


BEGINNING  OF  THE  SERIES         127 

If  she  had  not  had  so  many  anxieties  that  her 
youthful  love  of  "larks"  had  been  crushed  out,  she 
would  have  "adored"  a  flirtation  with  Nelson  Smith. 
It  would  have  been  "great  fun"  to  steal  him  from  the 
pretty  beanpole  of  a  girl  who  would  not  know  how  to 
use  her  claws  in  a  fight  for  her  man;  but  as  it  was, 
Connie  thought  only  of  conciliating  "Cousin  Anne," 
and  winning  her  confidence.  Other  women  would 
try  to  take  Nelson  Smith  from  his  wife,  but  Connie 
would  have  her  hands  full  in  playing  a  less  amusing 
game. 

She  thought,  seeing  that  the  handsome,  dark  young 
man  she  admired  had  a  mind  of  his  own,  it  would  be  a 
difficult  game  to  play;  and  Nelson  Smith  saw  that  she 
thought  so.  His  sense  of  humour  caused  him  to 
smile  at  his  own  cleverness  in  producing  the  impres- 
sion; and  he  would  have  given  a  good  deal  for  some- 
one to  laugh  with  over  her  manoeuvres  to  entice  him 
along  the  road  he  wished  to  travel. 

But  he  dared  not  point  out  to  Annesley  the  fun  of 
the  situation.  To  do  so  would  be  to  put  her  against 
him  and  it. 

She,  too,  had  a  sense  of  humour,  suppressed  by 
five  years  of  Mrs.  Ellsworth,  but  coming  delightfully 
to  life,  like  a  half-frozen  bird,  in  the  sunshine  of 
safety  and  happiness.  Knight  appealed  to  and  en- 
couraged it  often,  for  he  could  not  have  lived  with 
a  humourless  woman,  no  matter  how  sweet. 

Yet  he  did  not  dare  wake  it  where  her  cousins  were 
concerned.  Her  sense  of  honour  was  more  valuable 
to  him  than  her  sense  of  humour.  He  was  afraid  to 


128  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

put  the  former  on  the  defensive,  and  he  was  glad  to 
let  her  believe  the  Annesley-Setons  were  genuinely 
"wanning"  to  them  in  a  way  which  proved  that 
blood  was  thicker  than  water. 

The  girl  had  wondered  from  the  first  why  he  was 
determined  to  make  friends  with  these  cousins  whom 
she  had  never  known,  and  he  was  grateful  because 
she  believed  in  him  too  loyally  to  attribute  his  desire 
to  "snobbishness."  He  wished  her  to  suppose  he 
had  set  his  heart  on  providing  her  with  influential 
guidance  on  the  threshold  of  a  new  life;  and  it  was 
important  that  she  should  not  begin  criticizing  his 
motives. 

By  the  tune  dinner  was  over  Constance  Annesley- 
Seton  had  decided  that  the  Nelson  Smiths  had  been 
sent  to  her  by  the  Powers  that  Be,  and  that  it  would 
be  tempting  Providence  not  to  annex  them.  Not 
that  she  put  it  in  that  way  to  herself,  for  she  did  not 
trouble  her  mind  about  Providence.  All  she  knew 
was  that  she  and  Dick  would  be  fools  to  let  the  chance 
slip. 

It  was  as  much  as  she  could  do  not  to  suggest  the 
idea  in  her  mind :  that  the  Nelson  Smiths  should  take 
the  house  in  Portman  Square;  that  she  and  her  hus- 
band should  introduce  them  to  society,  and  that  the 
Devonshire  place  should  either  be  let  to  them  or 
that  they  should  visit  there  when  they  wished  to  be 
in  the  country,  as  paying  guests. 

But  she  controlled  her  impatience,  limiting  herself 
to  proposing  plans  for  future  meetings.  She  sug- 
gested giving  a  dinner  in  honour  of  the  bride  and 


BEGINNING  OF  THE  SERIES         129 

bridegroom,  and  inviting  people  whom  it  would  be 
"nice  for  them  to  know"  in  town. 

Knight  said  that  he  and  "Anita"  (his  new  name  for 
Annesley,  a  souvenir  of  Spanish  South  America) 
would  accept  with  pleasure.  And  the  girl  agreed 
gladly,  because  she  thought  her  cousin  and  his  wife 
were  very  kind. 

After  dinner  Annesley-Seton  and  Knight  followed 
Constance  and  "Anita"  almost  directly,  the  former 
asking  his  guests  if  they  would  like  to  see  some  of 
the  family  treasures  which  they  could  only  have 
glanced  at  in  passing  with  the  crowd  the  other  day. 

"Before  sugar  went  to  smash,  we  blazed  into  all 
sorts  of  extravagances  here,"  he  said,  bitterly,  with  a 
glance  at  the  deposed  Sugar  King's  daughter. 
"Among  others,  putting  electric  light  into  this  old 
barn.  We'll  have  an  illumination,  and  show  you 
some  trifles  Connie  and  I  wish  to  Heaven  a  kind- 
hearted  burglar  would  relieve  us  of. 

"Of  course  the  beastly  things  are  heirlooms,  as 
I  suppose  you  know.  We  can't  sell  or  pawn  them, 
or  I  should  have  done  one  or  the  other  long  ago. 
They're  insured  by  the  trustees,  who  are  the  bane 
of  our  lives,  for  the  estate.  But  a  sporting  sort  of 
company  has  blossomed  out  lately,  which  insures 
against  'loss  of  use' — I  think  that's  the  expression. 
I  pay  the  premium  myself — even  when  I  can't  pay 
anything  else! — and  if  the  valuable  contents  of  this 
place  are  stolen  or  burned,  we  shall  benefit  per- 
sonally. 

"I  don't  mind  you  or  all  the  world  knowing  we're 


130  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

stony  broke,"  he  went  on,  frankly.  "And  everyone 
does  know,  anyhow,  that  we'd  be  in  the  deuce  of  a 
hole  without  the  tourists'  shillings  which  pour  in 
twice  a  week  the  year  round.  You  see,  each  object 
in  the  collection  helps  bring  in  those  shillings;  and 
'loss  of  use'  of  a  single  one  would  be  a  real  depri- 
vation. So  it's  fair  and  above  board.  But  thus 
far,  I've  paid  my  premium  and  got  no  return, 
these  last  three  years.  Our  tourists  are  so  disgust- 
ingly honest,  or  our  burglars  so  clumsy  and  unenter- 
prising, that,  as  you  say  in  the  States,  'there's  nothing 
doing.'" 

As  he  talked  Dick  Annesley-Seton  sauntered  about 
the  immense  room  into  which  they  had  come  from 
the  state  banqueting  hall,  switching  on  more  and 
more  of  the  electric  candle-lights  set  high  on  the 
green  brocade  walls.  This  was  known  as  the  "green 
drawing  room"  by  the  family,  and  the  "Room  of 
the  Miniatures  "  by  the  public,  who  read  about  it  in 
catalogues. 

"Come  and  look  at  our  white  elephants,"  he  went 
on,  when  the  room,  dimly  and  economically  lit  at 
first,  was  ablaze  with  light;  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Nel- 
son Smith  joined  him  eagerly.  Constance  followed, 
too,  bored  but  resigned;  and  her  husband  paused 
before  a  tall,  narrow  glass  cabinet  standing  in  a  re- 
cess. 

"See  these  miniatures!"  he  exclaimed,  fretfully. 
"There  are  plenty  more,  but  the  best  are  in  this 
cabinet;  and  there's  a  millionaire  chap  in  New 
York — perhaps  you  can  guess  his  name,  Smith?— 


BEGINNING  OF  THE  SERIES         131 

who  has  offered  a  hundred  thousand  pounds  for  the 
thirty  little  bits  of  ivory  in  it." 

"I  think  that  must  have  been  the  great  Paul  Van 
Vreck,"  Knight  hazarded. 

"I  thought  you'd  guess!  There  aren't  many 
who'd  make  such  an  offer.  Think  what  it  would 
mean  to  me  if  it  could  be  accepted,  and  I  could 
have  the  handling  of  the  money.  There  are  three 
small  pictures  hi  the  little  octagon  gallery  next  door, 
too,  Van  Vreck  took  a  fancy  to  on  a  visit  he  paid  us 
from  Saturday  to  Monday  last  summer.  We  never 
thought  much  of  them,  and  they're  in  a  dark  place, 
labelled  in  the  catalogue  'Artist  omknown:  School 
of  Fragonard';  but  he  swore  they  were  authentic 
Fragonards,  and  would  have  backed  his  opinion  to 
the  tune  of  fifteen  thousand  pounds  for  the  trio,  or 
six  thousand  for  the  one  he  liked  best.  Isn't  it 
aggravating?  In  the  Chinese  room  he  went  mad 
over  some  bits  of  jade,  especially  a  Buddha  nobody 
else  had  ever  admired." 

"He's  one  of  the  few  millionaire  collectors  who  is 
really  a  judge  of  all  sorts  of  things,"  Knight  replied. 
"But,  great  Scott!  I'm  no  expert,  yet  it  strikes  me 
these  miniatures  are  something  out  of  the  ordinary!" 

"Well,  yes,  they  are,"  Annesley-Seton  admitted, 
modestly.  "That  queer  one  at  the  top  is  a  Nicholas 
Hilliard.  I  believe  he  was  the  first  of  the  miniatur- 
ists. And  the  two  just  underneath  are  Samuel 
Coopers.  They  say  he  stood  at  the  head  of  the 
Englishmen.  There  are  three  Richard  Cosways 
and  rather  a  nice  Angelica  Kauffmann." 


132  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

"It  was  the  Fragonard  miniature  Mr.  Van  Vreck 
liked  best,"  put  in  Constance.  "It  seems  he  painted 
only  a  few.  And  next,  the  Goya — 

"Good  heavens!  where  is  the  Fragonard?"  cried 
Dick,  his  eyes  bulging  behind  his  pince-nez.  "Surely 
it  was  here — 

"  Oh,  surely,  yes ! "  panted  his  wife.  "  It  was  never 
anywhere  else." 

For  an  instant  they  were  stricken  into  silence,  both 
staring  at  a  blank  space  on  the  black  velvet  back- 
ground where  twenty-nine  miniatures  hung.  There 
was  no  doubt  about  it  when  they  had  reviewed  the 
rows  of  little  painted  faces.  The  Fragonard  was 
gone. 

"Stolen!"  gasped  Lady  Annesley-Seton. 

"Unless  one  of  you,  or  some  servant  you  trust  with 
the  key,  is  a  somnambulist,"  said  Knight.  "I  don't 
see  how  it  would  pay  a  thief  to  steal  such  a  thing. 
It  must  be  too  well  known.  He  couldn't  dispose  of 
it — that  is  if  he  weren't  a  collector  himself;  and  even 
then  he  could  never  show  it.  But — by  Jove!" 

"What  is  it?  What  have  you  seen?"  Annesley- 
Seton  asked,  sharply. 

Knight  pointed,  without  touching  the  cabinet. 
He  had  never  come  near  enough  to  do  that.  "It 
looks  to  me  as  if  a  square  bit  of  glass  had  been  cut 
out  on  the  side  where  the  lost  miniature  must  have 
hung,"  he  said.  "I  can't  be  sure,  from  where  I 
stand,  because  the  cabinet  is  too  close  to  the  wall 
of  the  recess." 

Dick  Annesley-Seton  thrust  his  arm  into  the  space 


BEGINNING  OF  THE  SERIES         133 

between  green  brocade  and  glass,  then  slipped  his 
hand  through  a  neatly  cut  aperture  just  big  enough 
to  admit  its  passage.  With  his  hand  in  the  square 
hole  he  could  reach  the  spot  where  the  miniature  had 
hung,  and  could  have  taken  it  off  the  hook  had  it  been 
there.  But  hook,  as  well  as  miniature,  was  missing. 

"That  settles  it!"  he  exclaimed.  "It  is  a  theft, 
and  a  clever  one!  Strange  we  should  find  it  out 
when  I  was  demonstrating  to  you  how  much  I  wished 
it  would  happen.  Hurrah!  That  miniature  alone 
is  insured  against  burglary  for  seven  or  eight  hundred 
pounds.  Nothing  to  what  it's  worth,  but  a  lot  to 
pay  a  premium  on,  with  the  rest  of  the  things  besides. 
I  wish  now  I  hadn't  been  so  cheese-paring.  You'll 
be  witnesses,  you  two,  of  our  discovery.  I'm  glad 
Connie  and  I  weren't  alone  when  we  found  it  out. 
Something  nasty  might  have  been  said." 

"We'll  back  you  up  with  pleasure,"  Knight  replied. 
"WTiat  was  the  miniature  like?  I  wonder  if  we  saw 
it  when  we  were  here  the  other  day,  Anita?  I  re- 
member these,  but  can't  recall  any  other." 

"Neither  can  I,"  returned  Annesley.  "But  I  am 
stupid  about  such  things.  We  saw  so  many — and 
passed  so  quickly." 

"I  wronder  if  Paul  Van  Vreck  was  here  in  disguise 
among  the  tourists?"  said  Dick,  beginning  to  laugh. 
"It  would  have  been  the  one  he'd  have  chosen  if  he 
couldn't  grab  the  lot." 

"Oh,  surely  no  one  in  the  crowd  could  have  cut  a 
piece  of  glass  out  of  a  cabinet  and  stolen  a  miniature 
without  being  seen!"  Annesley  cried. 


134  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

"Dick  is  half  in  joke,"  Constance  explained.  "It 
would  have  been  a  miracle,  yet  the  servants  are 
above  suspicion.  Those  horrid  trustees  never  let 
me  choose  a  new  one  without  their  interf  erence.  And, 
of  course  Dick  didn't  mean  what  he  said  about  Mr. 
Van  Vreck." 

"Of  course  not.  I  understood  that,"  Annesley 
excused  herself,  blushing  lest  she  had  appeared  ob- 
tuse. 

"All  the  same,  to  carry  on  the  joke,  let's  go  into 
the  octagon  room  and  see  if  the  alleged  Fragonard 
pictures  have  gone,  too,"  said  Annesley -Seton.  He 
led  the  way,  turning  on  more  light  in  the  adjoining 
room  as  he  went;  and,  outdistancing  the  others,  they 
heard  him  stammer,  "Good  Lord!"  before  they  were 
near  enough  to  see  what  he  saw. 

"They  aren't  gone?"  shrieked  his  wife,  hurrying 
after  him. 

"One  of  them  is." 

In  an  instant  the  three  had  grouped  behind  him, 
where  he  stood  staring  at  an  empty  frame,  between 
two  others  of  the  same  pattern  and  size,  charming 
old  frames  twelve  or  fourteen  inches  square,  within 
whose  boundaries  of  carved  and  gilded  wood,  nymphs 
held  hands  and  danced. 

"Are  we  dreaming  this?"  gasped  Constance. 

"Thank  Heaven  we're  not!"  the  husband  an- 
swered. "The  two  paintings  are  on  wood,  you  see. 
So  was  the  missing  one.  Someone  has  simply  un- 
fastened it  from  the  frame,  and  trusted  to  this  being 
a  dark,  out-of-the-way  corner,  not  to  have  the  theft 


BEGINNING  OF  THE  SERIES         135 

noticed  for  hours  or  maybe  days.  By  all  that's 
wonderful,  here's  another  insurance  haul  for  me! 
What  about  the  jade  Buddha  in  the  Chinese  room?" 

They  rushed  back  into  the  green  drawing  room, 
and  so  to  the  beautiful  Chinese  room  beyond,  with 
its  priceless  lacquer  tables  and  cabinets.  In  one  of 
these  latter  a  collection  of  exquisite  jade  was  gathered 
together. 

And  the  Buddha  which  Paul  Van  Vreck  had 
coveted  was  gone! 


CHAPTER  XI 
ANNESLEY  REMEMBERS 

THERE  was  great  excitement  for  the  next  few  days 
at  Valley  House  and  throughout  the  neighbour- 
hood, for  the  Annesley-Setons  made  no  secret  of  the 
robbery,  and  the  affair  got  into  the  papers,  not  only 
the  local  ones,  but  the  London  dailies. 

Two  of  the  latter  sent  representatives,  to  whom 
Lord  Annesley-Seton  granted  interviews.  Something 
he  said  attracted  the  reporters*  attention  to  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Nelson  Smith,  who  had  been  dining  at  Valley 
House  on  the  evening  when  the  theft  was  discovered, 
and  Knight  was  begged  for  an  interview. 

He  was  asked  if  he  had  formed  an  opinion  as  to  the 
disappearance  of  the  three  heirlooms,  and  whether 
he  knew  personally  Mr.  Paul  Van  Vreck,  the  Amer- 
ican collector  and  retired  head  of  the  famous  firm  of 
jewellers,  who  had  wished  to  buy  the  vanished 
treasures. 

Having  spent  most  of  his  life  in  America,  Knight 
had  the  theory  that  unless  you  wished  to  be  mis- 
represented, the  only  safe  thing  was  to  let  yourself 
be  interviewed.  He  was  accordingly  so  good' 
natured  and  interesting  that  the  reporters  were  de- 
lighted with  him.  If  he  had  been  wishing  for  a  wide 

136 


ANNESLEY  REMEMBERS  137 

advertisement  of  his  personality,  his  possessions,  and 
his  plans,  he  could  not  have  chosen  a  surer  way  of 
getting  it. 

The  two  newspapers  which  had  undertaken  to 
boom  the  "Valley  House  Heirloom  Theft"  had  al- 
most limitless  circulations.  One  of  them  possessed 
a  Continental  edition,  and  the  other  was  immensely 
popular  because  of  its  topical  illustrations. 

Snapshots,  not  so  unflattering  as  usual,  were  ob- 
tained of  the  young  Anglo-American  millionaire  and 
his  bride,  as  they  started  away]  from  the  Knowle 
Hotel  in  their  motor,  or  as  they  walked  in  the  garden. 
Though  Knight  had  disclaimed  any  personal  ac- 
quaintance with  the  great  Paul  Van  Vreck,  he  was 
able  to  state  that  Mr.  Van  Vreck  had  been  con- 
valescing at  Palm  Beach,  in  Florida,  at  the  time  of 
the  robbery.  He  had  had  an  attack  of  pneumonia 
in  the  autumn,  and  instead  of  travelling  in  his  yacht 
to  Egypt,  as  he  generally  did  travel  early  in  the  win- 
ter, he  had  been  ordered  by  his  doctors  to  be  satisfied 
with  a  "place  in  the  sun"  nearer  home. 

Everyone  in  America  knew  this,  Knight  explained, 
and  everyone  in  England  might  know  it  also,  unless 
it  had  been  forgotten.  If  Mr.  Van  Vreck  were  well 
enough  to  take  an  interest  in  the  papers,  he  was  sure 
to  be  amused  by  the  coincidence  that  the  things 
stolen  from  Valley  House  were  among  those  he  had 
wanted  to  buy. 

Knight  thought,  however,  that  even  if  the  clever 
thief  or  thieves  had  heard  of  Van  Vreck's  whim,  no 
attempt  would  be  made  to  dispose  of  the  spoil  to  him. 


138  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

The  elderly  millionaire,  though  one  of  the  most 
eccentric  men  living,  was  known  as  the  soul  of 
honour. 

The  relationship  between  young  Mrs.  Nelson 
Smith  and  Lord  Annesley-Seton  was  touched  upon 
in  the  papers;  and  though  it  was  irrelevant  to  the 
subject  in  hand,  mention  was  made  of  the  Nelson 
Smiths'  plan  to  live  in  London. 

This  gave  Constance  her  chance.  At  an  im- 
promptu luncheon  at  the  Knowle  Hotel,  before  the 
intended  dinner  party  at  Valley  House,  she  referred 
to  the  interest  Society  would  begin  to  take  in  this 
"romantic  couple." 

"Everybody  will  have  fallen  in  love  with  you  al- 
ready," she  said,  "from  those  snapshots  in  the 
Looking  Glass.  They  make  you  both  look  such 
darlings — though  they  don't  flatter  either  of  you. 
All  the  people  we  know  will  be  clamouring  to  meet 
you,  so  you  must  hurry  and  find  a  nice  house,  in 
the  right  part  of  town,  before  some  other  sensation 
comes  up  and  you're  forgotten.  How  would  it  be  if 
you  took  our  house  for  a  couple  of  months,  while 
you're  looking  round?  Naturally,  if  you  liked  it, 
you  could  keep  it  on.  We'd  be  delighted,  for  we  have 
to  let  it  when  we  can,  and  it  would  be  a  pleasure  to 
think  of  you  in  it." 

"If  we're  in  it,  you  must  both  come  and  stay,  and 
not  only  'think'  of  us,  but  be  with  us:  mustn't  they, 
Anita?"  Knight  proposed.  Of  course  Annesley 
said  yes,  and  meant  yes.  Not  that  she  really  wanted 
her  duet  with  Knight  to  be  broken  up  into  a  chorus, 


ANNESLEY  REMEMBERS  139 

but  she  longed  to  succeed  as  a  woman  of  the  world, 
since  that  was  what  he  wanted  her  to  be;  and  she 
realized  that  Lady  Annesley-Seton's  help  would  be 
invaluable. 

So,  through  the  theft  at  Valley  House  and  the 
developments  therefrom,  the  hidden  desires  of  Nel- 
son Smith  and  the  daughter  of  the  deposed  Sugar 
King  accomplished  themselves,  Connie  still  believing 
that  she  had  engineered  the  affair  with  diplomatic 
skill,  and  Knight  laughing  silently  at  the  way  she  had 
played  into  his  hands. 

Detectives  were  set  to  work  by  the  two  insurance 
companies,  who  hoped  to  trace  the  thief  and  dis- 
cover the  stolen  Fragonards  and  the  jade  Buddha; 
but  their  efforts  failed;  and  at  the  dinner  party  given 
in  honour  of  the  new  cousins,  Lord  and  Lady  Annes- 
ley-Seton  rejoiced  openly  in  their  good  luck. 

"All  the  same,"  Constance  said,  "I  should  like  to 
know  how  the  things  were  spirited  out  of  the  house, 
and  where  they  are.  It  is  the  first  mystery  that  has 
ever  come  into  our  lives.  I  wish  I  were  a  clairvoy- 
ante.  It  would  be  fun!" 

"Did  you  ever  hear  of  the  Countess  de  Santiago, 
when  you  lived  in  America?"  asked  Knight  in  his 
calm  voice.  He  did  not  glance  toward  Annesley, 
who  sat  at  the  other  end  of  the  table,  but  he  must 
have  guessed  that  she  would  turn  with  a  start  of 
surprise  on  hearing  the  Countess's  name  in  this 
connection. 

"The  Countess  de  Santiago?"  Connie  echoed. 
"No.  What  about  her?  She  sounds  interesting." 


140  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

"She  is  interesting.  And  beautiful."  Every- 
body had  stopped  talking  by  this  time,  to  listen;  and 
in  the  pause  Knight  appealed  to  his  wife.  "That's 
not  an  exaggeration,  is  it,  Anita?  " 

Annesley,  wondering  and  somewhat  startled,  ans- 
wered that  the  Countess  de  Santiago  was  one  of  the 
most  beautiful  women  she  had  seen. 

This  riveted  the  attention  which  Knight  had 
caught.  He  had  his  audience,  and  went  on  hi  a 
leisurely  way. 

"  Come  to  think  of  it,  she  can't  have  been  heard  of 
in  your  part  of  the  world  until  you'd  left  for  Eng- 
land," he  told  Constance.  "She's  the  most  ex- 
traordinary clairvoyante  I  ever  heard  of.  That's 
what  made  me  speak  of  her.  Unfortunately  she's 
not  a  professional,  and  won't  do  anything  unless  she 
happens  to  feel  like  it.  But  I  wonder  if  I  could 
persuade  her  to  look  in  her  crystal  for  you,  Lady 
Annesley-Seton  ? 

"She's  an  old  acquaintance  of  mine,"  he  went  on, 
casually.  "  I  met  her  in  Buenos  Aires  before  her  rich 
elderly  husband  died,  about  seven  or  eight  years  ago. 
She  was  very  young  then.  I  came  across  her  again 
in  California,  when  she  was  seeing  the  world  as  a 
free  woman,  after  the  old  fellow's  death.  Then  I 
introduced  her  by  letter  to  one  or  two  people  in  New 
York,  and  I  believe  she  has  been  admired  there,  and 
at  Newport. 

"But  I've  only  heard  all  that,"  Knight  hastened 
to  explain.  "  I've  been  too  busy  till  lately  to  know  at 
first  hand  what  goes  on  in  the  'smart'  or  the  artistic 


ANNESLEY  REMEMBERS  141 

set.  My  w*rld  doesn't  take  much  interest  in  crys- 
tal-gazers and  palmists,  amateur  or  professional, 
even  when  they  happen  to  be  handsome  women, 
like  the  Countess.  But  I  ran  against  her  again  on 
board  the  Monarchic  about  a  month  ago,  crossing 
to  this  side,  and  we  picked  up  threads  of  old  acquaint- 
ance. She  was  staying  at  the  Savoy  when  I  left 
London." 

He  paused  a  moment,  and  added: 

"As  a  favour  to  me,  she  might  set  her  accomplish- 
ments to  work  on  this  business.  Only  she'd  have  to 
meet  you  both  and  see  this  house,  for  I've  heard  her 
say  she  couldn't  do  anything  without  knowing  the 
people  concerned,  and  'getting  the  atmosphere."' 

"Oh,  we  must  have  her!"  cried  Constance,  and  all 
the  other  women  except  Annesley  chimed  in,  begging 
their  hostess  to  invite  them  if  the  Countess  came. 

No  one  thought  it  odd  that  Mrs.  Nelson  Smith 
should  be  silent,  for  her  remark  about  the  Countess 
de  Santiago's  beauty  showed  that  she  had  met  the 
lady;  but  to  any  one  who  had  turned  a  critical  stare 
upon  her  then,  her  expression  must  have  seemed 
strange.  She  had  an  unseeing  look,  the  look  of  one 
who  has  become  deaf  and  blind  to  everything  outside 
some  scene  conjured  up  by  the  brain. 

What  Annesley  saw  was  a  copy  of  the  Morning 
Post.  Knight's  mention  of  the  Countess  de  San- 
tiago's power  of  clairvoyance  at  the  same  time  with 
the  liner  Monarchic  printed  before  her  eyes  a  para- 
graph which  her  subconscious  self  had  never  for- 
gotten. 


142  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

For  the  moment  only  her  body  sat  between  a  young 
hunting  baronet  and  a  distinguished  elderly  general 
at  her  cousins'  dinner  table.  Her  soul  had  gone 
back  to  London,  to  the  ugly  dining  room  at  22A, 
Torrington  Square,  and  was  reading  aloud  from 
a  newspaper  to  a  stout  old  woman  in  a  tea 
gown. 

She  was  even  able  to  recall  what  she  had  been 
thinking,  as  her  lips  mechanically  conveyed  the  news 
to  Mrs.  Ellsworth.  She  had  been  wondering  how 
much  longer  she  could  go  on  enduring  the  monotony, 
and  what  Mrs.  Ellsworth  would  do  if  her  slave  should 
stop  reading,  shriek,  and  throw  the  Morning  Post 
in  her  face. 

As  she  pictured  to  herself  the  old  woman's  amaze- 
ment, followed  by  rage,  she  had  pronounced  the 
words: 

SENSATIONAL    OCCURRENCE  ON  BOARD  THE  S.S. 
MONARCHIC 

Even  that  exciting  preface  had  not  recalled  her 
interest  from  her  own  affairs.  She  could  remember 
now  the  hollow,  mechanical  sound  of  her  voice  in  her 
own  ears  as  she  had  half-heartedly  gone  on,  tempted 
to  turn  the  picture  of  her  wild  revolt  into  reality. 

The  paragraph,  seemingly  forgotten  but  merely 
buried  under  other  memories,  had  told  of  the  disap- 
pearance on  board  the  Monarchic  of  certain  pearls 
and  diamonds  which  were  being  secretly  brought 
from  New  York  to  London  by  an  agent  of  a  great 
jewellery  firm.  He  had  been  blamed  by  the  chief 


ANNESLEY  REMEMBERS  143 

officer  for  not  handing  the  valuables  over  to  the 
purser. 

The  unfortunate  man  (who  had  not  advertised 
the  fact  that  he  was  an  agent  for  Van  Vreck  &  Co. 
until  he  had  had  to  complain  of  the  theft)  excused 
this  seeming  carelessness  by  the  statement  that  he 
had  hoped  his  identity  might  pass  unsuspected.  His 
theory  was  that  safety  lay  in  insignificance. 

He  had  engaged  a  small,  cheap  cabin  for  himself 
alone,  taking  an  assumed  name;  had  pretended  to 
be  a  schoolmaster  on  holiday,  and  had  worn  the 
pearls  and  other  things  always  on  his  person  in  a 
money  belt.  Even  at  night  he  had  kept  the  belt  on 
his  body,  a  revolver  under  his  pillow,  and  the  door 
of  his  cabin  locked,  with  an  extra  patent  adjustable 
lock  of  his  own,  invented  by  a  member  of  the  firm  he 
served.  It  had  not  seemed  probable  that  he  would 
be  recognized,  or  possible  that  he  could  be  robbed. 

Yet  one  morning  he  had  waked  late,  with  a  dull 
headache  and  sensation  of  sickness,  to  find  that  his 
door,  though  closed,  was  unfastened,  and  that  all  his 
most  valuable  possessions  were  missing  from  the  belt. 

Some  were  left,  as  though  the  thief  had  fastidiously 
made  his  selection,  scorning  to  trouble  himself 
with  anything  but  the  best.  The  mystery  of  the 
affair  was  increased  by  the  fact  that,  though  the  man 
(Annesley  vaguely  recalled  some  odd  name,  like 
Jekyll  or  Jedkill)  felt  certain  he  had  fastened  the 
door,  there  was  no  sign  that  it  had  been  forced  open. 
His  patent  detachable  lock,  however,  had  disap- 
peared, like  the  jewels. 


144  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

And  despite  the  sensation  of  sickness,  and  pain  in 
the  head,  there  were  no  symptoms  of  drugging  by 
chloroform,  or  any  odour  of  chloroform  or  other 
anaesthetic  in  the  room. 

It  struck  Annesley  as  strange,  almost  terrifying, 
that  these  details  of  the  Monarchic  "sensation'* 
should  come  back  to  her  now;  but  she  could  not 
doubt  that  she  had  actually  read  them,  and  the  rest 
of  the  story  continued  to  reprint  itself  on  her  brain, 
as  the  unrolling  of  a  film  might  bring  back  to  one  of 
the  actors  poses  of  his  own  which  he  had  let  slip  into 
oblivion. 

She  remembered  how  some  of  the  more  important 
passengers  had  suggested  that  everybody  on  board 
should  be  searched,  even  to  the  ship's  officers,  sailors, 
and  employes  of  all  sorts;  that  the  search  had  been 
made  and  nothing  found,  but  that  a  lady  supposed 
to  possess  clairvoyant  powers  had  offered  Mr.  Jekyll 
or  Jedkill  to  consult  her  crystal  for  his  benefit. 

She  had  done  so,  and  had  seen  wireless  messages 
passing  between  someone  on  the  Monarchic  and 
someone  on  another  ship,  with  whom  the  former 
person  appeared  to  be  in  collusion.  She  had  seen  a 
small,  fair  man,  dressed  as  a  woman,  hypnotizing  the 
jewellers'  agent  into  the  belief  that  he  was  locking  his 
door  when  instead  he  was  leaving  it  unlocked. 

Then  she  had  seen  this  man  who,  she  asserted 
firmly,  was  dressed  like  a  woman,  walk  into  his  vic- 
tim's cabin,  hypnotize  him  into  still  deeper  uncon- 
sciousness, and  take  from  his  belt  three  long  strings 
of  pearls  and  several  magnificent  diamonds,  set  and 


ANNESLEY  REMEMBERS  145 

unset.  These  things  she  saw  made  up  into  a  bundle, 
wrapped  in  waterproof  cloth,  attached  to  a  faintly 
illuminated  life-preserver,  and  thrown  overboard. 

Almost  immediately  after,  she  said,  the  life  pre- 
server was  picked  up  by  a  man  in  a  small  motor- 
launch  let  down  from  a  steam  yacht.  The  launch 
quickly  returned  to  the  yacht,  was  taken  up,  and 
the  yacht  made  off  in  the  darkness. 

No  life  belt  was  missing  from  the  Monarchic  and 
even  if  suspicion  could  be  entertained  against  any 
"small,  frir  man"  (which  was  not  the  case,  ap- 
parently), there  was  no  justification  for  a  search. 
Therefore,  although  a  good  many  people  believed 
in  the  seeress's  vision,  it  proved  nothing,  and  the 
sensational  affair  remained  as  deep  a  mystery  as  ever 
when  the  Monarchic  docked. 

"The  Countess  de  Santiago  was  the  woman  who 
looked  in  the  crystal !"  Annesley  said  to  herself.  She 
wondered  why,  if  Knight  had  been  vexed  with  the 
Countess  for  speaking  of  their  friendship  and  of  the 
Monarchic,  as  he  had  once  seemed  to  be,  he  should 
refer  to  it  before  these  strangers. 

She  looked  down  the  table,  past  the  other  faces  to 
his  face,  and  the  thought  that  came  to  her  mind  was, 
how  simple  and  almost  meaningless  the  rest  were 
compared  to  his.  Among  the  fourteen  guests — seven 
women  and  seven  men — though  some  had  charm  or 
distinction,  his  face  alone  was  complex,  mysterious, 
and  baffling. 

Yet  she  ioved  it.  Now,  more  than  ever,  she  loved 
and  admired  it! 


146  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

The  dinner  ended  with  a  discussion  between  Knight 
and  Constance  as  to  how  the  Countess  de  Santiago 
could  be  induced  to  pay  a  visit  to  Valley  House, 
despite  the  fact  that  she  had  never  met  Lord  and 
Lady  Annesley-Seton.  Like  most  women  who  had 
lived  in  Spanish  countries,  the  Countess  was  rather  a 
"stickler  for  etiquette,"  her  friend  Nelson  Smith 
announced.  Besides,  her  experience  as  an  "ama- 
teur clairvoyante "  made  her  quick  to  resent  any- 
thing which  had  the  air  of  patronage.  One  must  go 
delicately  to  work  to  think  out  a  scheme,  if  Lady 
Annesley-Seton  were  really  in  "dead  earnest"  about 
wanting  her  to  come. 

At  this  point  Knight  reflected  for  a  minute,  while 
everyone  hung  upon  his  silence;  and  at  last  he  had  an 
inspiration : 

"I'll  tell  you  what  we  can  do!"  he  exclaimed. 
"My  wife  and  I — you're  willing,  aren't  you,  Anita? — 
can  ask  her  to  stay  over  this  week-end  with  us.  I 
think  she'll  come  if  she  isn't  engaged;  and  we  can 
invite  you  to  meet  her  at  dinner." 

"Oh,  you  must  invite  us  all!"  pleaded  a  pretty 
woman  sitting  next  to  Knight. 

"All  of  you  who  care  to  come,  certainly,"  he 
agreed.  "  Won't  we,  Anita?  " 

"Oh,  of  course.  It  will  be  splendid  if  everybody 
will  dine  with  us!"  Annesley  backed  him  up  with 
one  of  the  girlish  blushes  that  made  her  seem  so 
young  and  ingenuously  attractive.  "We  can — send 
a  telegram  to  the  Countess." 

She  did  her  best  to  speak  enthusiastically,  and 


ANNESLEY  REMEMBERS  147 

succeeded.     No   one   save   Knight   and   Constance 
guessed  it  was  an  effort. 

Knight  saw,  and  was  grateful.  Constance  saw 
also,  and  smiled  to  herself  at  what  she  fancied  was 
the  girl's  jealousy  of  an  old  friend  of  the  new  hus- 
band— an  old  friend  who  was  "one  of  the  most  beau- 
tiful women"  the  girl  had  seen.  Annesley's  hesita- 
tion inclined  Constance  to  be  more  interested  than 
ever  in  the  Countess  de  Santiago. 


CHAPTER  XII 
THE  CRYSTAL 

MOTORING  back  from  Valley  House  to  the  Knowle 
Hotel,  Annesley  was  asking  herself  whether  she 
might  dare  refer  to  the  Monarchic,  and  mention  the 
story  she  had  read  in  the  Morning  Post.  She  burned 
to  do  so,  yet  stopped  each  time  a  question  pressed 
to  her  lips,  remembering  Knight's  eyes  as  he  had 
looked  at  the  Countess  in  the  Savoy  restaurant  the 
day  before  the  wedding. 

Perhaps  the  wish  would  have  conquered  if  some 
imp  had  not  whispered,  "What  about  that  purple 
envelope,  addressed  in  a  woman's  handwriting? 
Maybe  it  was  from  her,  hinting  to  see  him  again, 
and  that  is  what  has  put  this  plan  into^his  head. 
Perhaps  he  brought  up  the  subject  of  the  Countess 
on  purpose  to  make  them  invite  her  here!" 

This  thought  caused  the  Countess  de  Santiago  to 
seem  a  powerful  person,  with  an  influence  over 
Knight,  though  he  had  appeared  not  to  care  for  her. 
Could  it  be  that  he  wanted  an  excuse  to  have  her  near 
him?  The  suggestion  closed  Annesley 's  mouth  by 
making  her  afraid  that  she  was  turning  into  a  sus- 
picious creature,  like  jealous  brides  she  had  read 
about.  She  determined  to  be  silent  as  a  self-punish- 

148 


THE  CRYSTAL  149 

ment,  and  firmly  steered  the  Monarchic  into  a 
backwater  of  her  thoughts,  while  Knight  talked 
of  the  Valley  House  party  and  their  credulous  super- 
stition. 

"Every  man  Jack  and  every  woman  Jill  of  the  lot 
believe  in  that  crystal  and  clairvoyant  nonsense!" 
he  laughed.  "I  mentioned  it  for  fun,  but  I  went  on 
simply  to  'pull  their  legs.'  I  hope  you  don't  mind 
having  the  Countess  down,  do  you,  child?  Of  course, 
I  made  it  out  to  be  a  favour  that  so  wonderful  a  being 
should  consent  to  come  at  call.  But  between  us, 
Anita,  the  poor  woman  will  fall  over  herself  with  joy. 
She's  a  restless,  lonely  creature,  who  has  drifted 
about  the  world  without  stopping  anywhere  long 
enough  to  make  friends,  and  I  have  a  notion  that  her 
heart's  desire  is  to  'get  into  society'  hi  England. 
This  will  give  her  a  chance,  because  these  good  ladies 
and  gentlemen  who  are  dying  to  see  what  she's  like, 
and  persuade  her  to  tell  then*  pasts  and  futures,  are 
at  the  top  of  the  tree.  It's  a  cheap  way  for  us  to 
make  her  happy — and  we  can  afford  it." 

"Don't  you  believe  she  really  is  clairvoyant,  and 
sees  things  hi  her  crystal?  "  Annesley  ventured. 

It  was  then  that  Knight  made  her  heart  beat  by 
answering  with  a  question.  "Didn't  you  read  in 
the  newspapers  about  the  queer  thing  that  happened 
on  board  the  Monarchic  f  " 

"Ye-es,  I  did  read  it,"  the  girl  said,  in  so  stifled 
a  voice  that  the  reply  became  a  confession. 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  me  so?" 

"Because — the  day  I  heard  you  were  on  the  Mon- 


150  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

archie,  I  couldn't  remember  what  I'd  read.     It  was 
vague  in  my  mind 

"No  other  reason?" 

"Only  that— that— I  fancied " 

"You  fancied  I  didn't  like  to  talk  about  the  Mon- 
archic ?  " 

"Well,  when  the  Countess  spoke  of  it,  you  looked— 
cross." 

"I  was  cross.  But  only  with  the  way  she  spoke — 
as  if  she  and  I  had  come  over  together  because  we 
were  pals.  That's  all.  Though  I've  every  cause  to 
hate  the  memory  of  that  trip!  When  did  you  re- 
member what  you  had  read  in  the  newspapers?" 

"Only  this  evening." 

"I  thought  so!  At  dinner.  I  saw  a  look  come 
over  your  face." 

"I  didn't  know  you  noticed  me." 

"I'm  always  noticing  you.  And  I  was  proud  of 
you  to-night.  Well!  You  remembered 

"About  a  man  on  board  being  robbed,  and  a 
lady — an  'amateur  clairvoyante,'  seeing  things  in  a 
crystal.  I  thought  it  must  have  been  the  Countess 
de  Santiago." 

"It  was,  though  her  name  was  kept  out  of  the 
papers  by  her  request.  She's  sensitive  about  the 
clairvoyance  stuff:  afraid  people  may  consider  her  a 
professional,  and  look  down  on  her  from  patronizing 
social  heights.  Of  course,  I  suppose  it's  nonsense 
about  seeing  things  in  a  glass  ball,  but  I  believe  she 
does  contrive  to  take  it  seriously,  for  she  seems  in 
earnest.  She  did  tell  people  on  board  ship  things  about 


THE  CRYSTAL  151 

themselves — true  things,  they  said;  and  they  ought 
to  know! 

"As  for  the  jewel  affair,"  he  added,  "nobody 
could  be  sure  if  there  was  anything  in  her  'visions', 
but  people  thought  them  extraordinary — even  the 
captain,  a  hard-headed  old  chap.  You  see,  a  yacht 
had  been  sighted  the  evening  before  the  robbery 
while  the  passengers  were  at  dinner.  It  might  have 
kept  near,  with  lights  out,  for  the  Monarchic  is  one 
of  the  huge,  slow-going  giants,  and  the  yacht  might 
have  been  a  regular  little  greyhound.  It  seems  she 
didn't  answer  signals.  The  captain  hadn't  thought 
much  of  that,  because  there  was  a  slight  fog  and 
she  could  have  missed  them.  But  it  came  back  to 
him  afterward,  and  seemed  to  bear  out  the  Coun- 
tess's rigmarole. 

"Besides,  there  was  the  finding  of  the  patent  lock, 
where  she  told  the  man  Jedfield  he  ought  to  look  for 
it." 

"I  don't  remember  that  hi  the  paper." 

"  It  was  in  several,  if  not  all.  She  'saw'  the  missing 
lock — a  thing  that  goes  over  a  bolt  and  prevents  it 
sliding  back — in  one  of  the  lifeboats  upon  the  boat- 
deck,  caught  in  the  canvas  covering.  Well,  it  was 
there!  And  there  could  be  no  suspicion  of  her  put- 
ting the  thing  where  it  was  found,  so  as  to  make  her- 
self seem  a  true  prophetess.  She  couldn't  have  got 
to  the  place. 

"That's  why  people  were  so  impressed  with  the 
rest  of  the  visions.  We're  all  inclined  to  be  supersti- 
tious. Even  I  was  interested.  Though  I  don't 


152  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

pin  my  faith  in  such  things,  I  asked  her  to  look  into 
the  crystal,  and  see  if  she  could  tell  what  had  become 
of  my  gold  repeater,  which  disappeared  the  same 
night." 

"Oh!"  exclaimed  Annesley.  "So  you  had  some- 
thing stolen?" 

"It  looked  like  it.  Anyhow,  the  watch  went.  And 
the  Countess  lost  a  ring  during  the  trip — a  valuable 
one,  I  believe.  She  couldn't  'see'  anything  for  her- 
self, but  she  got  a  glimpse  of  my  repeater  in  the 
pocket  of  a  red  waistcoat.  Nobody  on  board  con- 
fessed to  a  red  waistcoat.  And  in  the  searching 
of  passengers'  luggage — which  I  should  have  proposed 
myself  if  I  hadn't  been  among  the  robbed — nothing 
of  the  sort  materialized. 

"However,  that  proved  nothing.  Jedfield's  pearls 
and  other  trinkets  must  have  been  somewhere  on 
board,  in  someone's  possession,  if  the  yacht  vision 
wasn't  true.  Yet  the  strictest  search  gave  no  sign 
of  them.  It  was  a  miracle  how  they  were  disposed 
of,  unless  they  were  thrown  overboard  and  picked 
up  by  someone  in  the  plot,  as  the  Countess  said." 

"Is  that  why  you  hate  to  think  of  the  trip — be- 
cause you  lost  your  watch?"  Annesley  asked. 

"Yes.  Just  that.  It  wasn't  so  much  the  loss  of 
the  watch — though  it  was  a  present  and  I  valued  it — 
as  because  it  made  me  feel  such  a  fool.  I  left  the 
repeater  under  my  pillow  when  I  got  up  in  the  middle 
of  the  night  to  go  on  deck,  thinking  I  heard  a  cry.  I 
couldn't  have  heard  one,  for  nobody  was  tkere.  And 
next  morning,  when  I  wanted  to  look  at  the  time,  my 


THE  CRYSTAL  153 

watch  was  equally  invisible.  Then  there  was  the 
business  of  the  passengers  being  searched,  and  the 
everlasting  talk  about  the  whole  business.  One  got 
sick  and  tired  of  it.  I  got  tired  of  the  Countess  and 
her  crystal,  too:  but  the  effect  is  passing  away  now. 
I  expect  I  can  stand  her  if  you  can." 

Annesley  said  that  she  would  be  interested.  She 
refrained  from  adding  that  she  did  not  intend  to  make 
use  of  the  seeress's  gift  for  her  own  benefit. 

The  Countess  de  Santiago  wired  her  acceptance 
of  the  invitation,  and  appeared  at  the  Knowle  Hotel 
on  Saturday  with  a  maid  and  a  good  deal  of  luggage. 
Annesley  had  secretly  feared  that  the  effect  of  the 
beautiful  lady  on  the  guests  of  the  hotel  would  be 
overpowering,  and  had  pictured  her,  brilliantly 
coloured  and  exquisitely  dressed,  breaking  like  a  sun- 
burst upon  the  dining  room  at  luncheon  tune. 

But  she  had  underrated  the  Countess's  cleverness 
and  sense  of  propriety.  The  lady  arrived  in  a  neat, 
tailor-made  travelling  dress  of  russet-brown  tweed 
which,  with  a  plain  toque  of  brown  velvet  and  fur, 
cooled  the  ruddy  flame  of  her  hair.  It  seemed  to 
Annesley  also  that  her  lips  were  less  red  than  before; 
and  though  she  was  as  remarkable  as  ever  for  her 
beauty,  she  was  not  to  be  remarked  for  meretricious- 
ness. 

She  was  pleasanter  in  manner,  too,  as  well  as  in 
appearance;  and  Annesley 's  heart — which  had  diffi- 
culty in  hardening  itself  for  long — was  touched  by  the 
Countess's  thanks  for  the  invitation. 


154  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

"You  are  so  happy  and  wrapped  up  in  each  other, 
I  didn't  expect  you  to  give  a  thought  to  me,"  the 
beautiful  woman  said.  "You  don't  know  what  it 
means  to  be  asked  down  here,  after  so  many  lonely 
days  in  town,  and  to  find  that  you  and  Don  are  going 
to  give  me  some  new  friends." 

This  note,  which  Knight  also  had  struck  in  ex- 
plaining the  Countess's  "heart's  desire,"  was  the 
right  note  to  enlist  Annesley's  sympathy.  One 
might  have  thought  that  both  had  guessed  this. 

Annesley  and  Knight  gave  then*  dinner  party  hi  a 
private  room  adjoining  their  own  sitting  room,  and 
connecting  also  with  another  smaller  room  which 
they  had  had  fitted  up  for  a  special  purpose.  This 
purpose  was  to  enshrine  the  seeress  and  her  crystal. 

As  Knight  had  said,  she  seemed  to  take  her  clair- 
voyant power  seriously,  and  insisted  that  she  could 
do  herself  justice  only  in  a  room  arranged  hi  a  certain 
way.  In  the  afternoon  she  directed  that  the  furni- 
ture should  be  removed  with  the  exception  of  one 
small  table  and  two  chairs.  Even  the  pictures  had 
to  be  taken  down,  and  under  the  Countess's  super- 
vision purple  velvet  draperies  had  to  be  put  up, 
covering  the  walls  and  window.  These  draperies 
she  had  brought  with  her,  and  they  had  curtain  rings 
sewn  on  at  the  upper  edge,  which  could  be  attached  to 
picture  hooks  or  nails. 

From  the  same  trunk  came  also  a  white  silk  table- 
cover  embroidered  in  gold  with  figures  representing 
the  signs  of  the  zodiac.  There  were  in  addition  three 
purple  velvet  cushions:  two  for  the  chairs  and  one — 


THE  CRYSTAL  155 

the  Countess  explained — for  the  table,  to  "make  an 
arm  rest."  By  her  further  desire  a  large  number  of 
hot-house  lilies  in  pots  were  sent  for,  and  ranged  on 
the  floor  round  the  walls. 

As  for  the  Turkish  carpet  of  banal  reds,  blues,  and 
greens,  it  had  to  be  concealed  under  rugs  of  black 
fur  which,  luckily,  the  hotel  possessed  hi  plenty.  It 
was  all  very  mysterious  and  exciting,  and  Annesley 
could  imagine  the  effective  background  these  con- 
trivances would  give  the  shining  figure  of  the  Coun- 
tess. 

When,  later  on,  she  saw  her  guest  dressed  for  din- 
ner, the  girl  realized  even  more  vividly  the  genius  of 
the  artist  who  had  planned  the  picture.  For  the 
Countess  de  Santiago  wore  a  clinging  gown  made  in 
Greek  fashion,  of  a  supple  white  material  shot  with 
interwoven  silver  threads.  She  wore  her  copper-red 
hair  in  a  classic  knot  with  a  wreath  of  emerald  laurel 
leaves. 

She  would  gleam  like  a  moonlit  statue  in  her  lily- 
perfumed,  purple  shrine,  Annesley  thought,  and  was 
not  surprised  that  the  lady  should  achieve  an  instant 
success  with  the  county  folk  who  had  begged  for  an 
invitation  to  meet  her. 

The  Countess  de  Santiago-  did  not  seem  to  mind 
answering  questions  about  her  powers,  which  every- 
one asked  across  the  dinner-table.  She  said  that 
since  her  seventh  birthday  she  had  been  able,  under 
certain  circumstances,  to  see  hidden  things  in  people's 
lives,  and  future  events. 

Her  first  experience,  as  a  child,  was  being  shut  up 


156  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

in  a  darkened  room,  and  looking  into  a  mirror,  where 
figures  and  scenes  appeared,  like  waking  dreams. 
She  had  been  frightened,  and  screamed  to  be  let  out. 
Her  mother  had  taken  pity  and  released  her,  saying 
that  after  all  it  was  what  "might  be  expected  from 
the  seventh  child  of  a  seventh  child,  born  on  All 
Saints'  Eve." 

The  Nelson  Smiths*  guests  listened  breathlessly 
to  every  word,  and  were  enchanted  when  she  prom- 
ised to  give  each  man  and  woman  a  short  "sitting" 
with  her  crystal  after  dinner. 

Nothing  was  said  about  the  purple  room,  so  that 
the  surprise  could  not  help  being  impressive. 

It  was  a  delightful  dinner,  well  thought  out  be- 
tween the  host  and  head-waiter,  but  no  one  wished 
to  linger  over  it.  Never  had  "bridge  fiends"  been 
so  eager  to  "get  to  work"  as  these  people  were  to 
take  their  turn  with  the  Countess  and  her  crystal. 
At  Lady  Annesley-Seton's  suggestion  they  drew 
lots  for  these  turns,  and  Constance  herself  drew  the 
first  chance.  She  and  the  gleaming  figure  of  the 
Countess  went  out  together,  and  ten  or  twelve  min- 
utes later  she  returned  alone. 

Everyone  stared  eagerly  to  see  if  she  looked  ex- 
cited, and  it  took  no  stretch  of  imagination  to  find 
her  face  flushed  and  her  eyes  dilated. 

"Well?  Has  she  told  you  anything  wonderful?" 
A  clamour  of  voices  joined  in  the  question. 

"Yes,  she  has,"  replied  Constance.  .  "She's  simply 
uncanny!  She  could  pick  up  a  fortune  in  London 
in  one  season,  if  she  were  a  professional.  She  has 


THE  CRYSTAL  157 

told  me  in  what  sort  of  place  the  heirlooms  are  now, 
but  that  we  shall  never  see  them  again." 

So  saying,  Lady  Annesley-Seton  plumped  down  on 
a  sofa  beside  her  hostess,  as  the  next  person  hurried 
off  to  plunge  into  the  mysteries.  "I  feel  quite  weak 
in  the  knees,"  Constance  whispered  to  Annesley. 
"Has  she  told  you  anything?" 

"No,"  said  the  girl  "I  don't — want  to  know 
things." 

She  might  have  added:  "Things  told  by  her." 
But  she  did  not  say  this. 

Constance  shivered.  "The  woman  frightened 
me  with  what  she  knew.  I  mean,  not  about  our 
robbery — that's  a  trifle — but  about  the  past.  That 
crystal  of  hers  seems  to  be — a  sort  of  Town 
Topics.  But  I  must  say  she  didn't  foretell  any 
horrors  for  the  future — not  for  me  personally.  If 
she  goes  on  as  she's  begun  she  can  do  what  she  likes 
with  us  all.  Dear  little  Anne,  you  must  ask  her 
often  to  your  house  when  you're  'finding  your  feet' — 
and  I'm  helping  you — in  London.  I  prophesy  that 
she'll  prove  an  attraction.  Why,  it  would  pay  to 
have  a  room  fitted  up  for  her  in  purple  and  black,  with 
relays  of  fresh  lilies." 

Annesley  smiled.  But  she  made  up  her  mind  that, 
if  a  room  were  done  in  purple  and  black  with  re- 
lays of  lilies  anywhere  for  the  Countess  de  Santiago, 
it  would  not  be  in  her  house.  Unless,  of  course. 
Knight  begged  it  of  her  as  a  favour. 

And  even  then — but  somehow  she  didn't  believe, 
despite  certain  appearances,  that  Knight  was  anxious 


158  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

to  have  his  old  friend  near  him.  He  had  the 
air  of  one  who  was  paying  a  debt;  and  she  remem- 
bered how  he  had  said,  on  the  day  of  their  wedding: 
"  We  will  find  a  time  to  pay  back  the  favours  they've 
done  us." 

This  visit  and  dinner  and  introduction  to  society 
was  perhaps  his  way  of  paying  the  Countess.  Only — 
was  it  payment  in  full,  or  an  instalment?  Annesley 
wondered. 

Vaguely  she  wondered  also  what  had  become  of 
Dr.  Torrance  and  the  Marchese  di  Morello.  Would 
the  next  payment  be  for  them,  and  what  form  would 
it  take? 

She  was  far  from  guessing. 

There  was  no  anti-climax  that  night  in  the  success 
of  the  Countess  with  her  "clients."  They  were 
deeply  impressed,  and  even  startled.  Not  one 
woman  said  to  herself  that  she  had  been  tricked  into 
giving  the  seeress  a  "lead."  There  was  nothing  in 
the  past  hidden  from  that  crystal  and  the  dark  eyes 
which  gazed  into  it!  As  for  the  future,  her  predic- 
tions were  remarkable;  and  she  must  have  given 
people  flattering  accounts  of  their  characters,  as 
everyone  thought  the  analysis  correct. 

What  a  pity,  the  women  whispered,  that  such  an 
astonishing  person  was  not  a  professional,  who  could 
be  paid  in  cash!  As  it  was,  she  would  expect  to  be 
rewarded  with  invitations:  and  though  she  was  pre- 
sentable, "You  know,  my  dear,  she's  frightfully 
pretty,  the  red-haired  sort,  that's  the  most  danger- 
ous— not  a  bit  safe  to  have  about  one's  men.  Still — 


THE  CRYSTAL  159 

no  price  is  too  high.  We  shall  all  be  fighting  for  her 
— or  over  her." 

And  before  the  evening  had  come  to  an  end  the 
Countess  de  Santiago  had  had  several  invitations 
for  town  and  country  houses.  To  be  sure,  they  were 
rather  informal.  But  the  beautiful  lady  knew  when 
to  be  lenient,  and  so  she  accepted  them  all. 

"  She  told  me  that  our  stolen  things  are  hidden  away 
for  ever,  and  that  we'll  be  robbed  again,"  Connie 
said  to  her  husband  on  the  way  back  to  Valley  House. 

"She  told  me  the  same,"  said  Dick.  *'And  I  hope 
to  goodness  we  may  be.  We've  done  jolly  well  out 
of  that  last  affair!" 

"Yes,"  his  wife  agreed.  "The  only  thing  I  don't 
like  about  it  is  the  mystery.  It  makes  me  feel  as  if 
something  might  be  hanging  over  one's  head." 

"  Over  the  trustees'  heads ! "  laughed  Lord  Annesley- 
Seton.  "I  wish  the  other  night  could  be  what  the 
Countess  called  the  'first  of  a  series."1 

"The  first  of  a  series!"  Constance  repeated. 
"What  a  queer  expression!  What  was  she  talking 
about?" 

"She  was — looking  in  her  crystal,"  answered  Dick, 
slowly,  as  if  something  he  had  seen  rose  again  before 
his  eyes. 

Constance  was  pricked  with  curiosity.  "You 
might  tell  me  what  the  woman  said!"  she  exclaimed. 

"You  haven't  told  me  what  message  she  had  for 
you." 

"I've  just  said  that  she  prophesied  we  should  be 
robbed  again." 


160  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

"That's  only  one  thing.  What  about  the  rest?" 
"  Oh !  A  lot  of  stuff  which  wouldn't  interest  you  !  " 
"You  can  keep  your  secret.  And  I'll  keep  mine," 

remarked      Dick     Annesley-Seton,     aggravatingly. 

"Anyhow,  for  the  present.     We'll  see  how  it  works 

out." 

"See  how  what  works  out?"  his  wife  echoed. 
"The  series." 


CHAPTER 
THE  SERIES  GOES  ON 

AFTER  all,  Annesley  had  not  written  to  her  friends, 
Archdeacon  Smith  and  his  wife,  on  leaving  Mrs.  Ells- 
worth's, to  tell  the  surprising  news  of  her  engagement. 
She  had  asked  Mr.  Ruthven  Smith  not  to  speak  of  it 
to  his  cousins,  because  she  would  prefer  to  write. 
But  then — the  putting  of  the  news  on  paper  in  a  way 
not  to  offend  them,  after  then*  kindness  in  the  past, 
had  been  difficult. 

Besides,  there  had  been  little  time  to  think  out  the 
difficulties,  and  find  a  way  of  surmounting  them. 
There  had  been  only  one  whole  day  before  the  wed- 
ding, and  that  day  she  had  spent  with  Knight,  buy- 
ing her  trousseau.  It  had  been  a  wonderful  day, 
never  to  be  forgotten,  but  its  end  had  found  her 
tired;  and  when  Knight,  had  said  "good-bye"  and 
left  her,  she  had  not  been  equal  to  composing  a  letter. 

Nevertheless,  she  had  tried,  for  it  had  seemed 
dreadful  to  marry  and  go  away  from  London  without 
letting  her  only  friends  know  what  had  happened, 
what  she  was  doing,  and  why  she  had  not  invited 
them  to  her  wedding. 

Ah,  why  ?  In  explaining  that  she  confronted  the 
great  obstacle.  She  had  not  known  how  to  exoner- 

161 


162  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

ate  herself  without  hurting  their  feelings,  or — telling 
a  lie. 

The  girl  hated  lying.  She  could  not  remember 
that  in  her  life  she  had  ever  spoken  or  written  a  lie 
in  so  many  words,  though,  like  most  people  who  are 
not  saints,  she  had  prevaricated  a  little  occasionally 
to  save  herself  or  others  from  some  unpleasantness. 

In  this  case  no  innocent  prevarication  would  serve. 
Even  if  she  had  been  willing  to  lie,  she  could  think  of 
no  excuse  which  would  seem  plausible.  Tired  as  she 
had  been  that  last  night  as  Annesley  Grayle,  and 
throbbing  as  she  was  with  excitement  at  the  thought 
of  the  new  life  before  her,  she  did  begin  a  letter. 

It  was  a  feeble  effort.  She  tore  it  up  and  essayed 
another.  The  second  was  worse  than  the  first,  and 
the  third  was  scarcely  an  improvement. 

Discouraged,  and  so  nerve-racked  that  she  was  on 
the  point  of  tears,  the  girl  put  off  the  attempt.  But 
days  passed,  and  when  no  inspiration  came,  and  she 
was  still  haunted  by  the  thought  of  a  duty  undone, 
she  compromised  by  telegraphing  from  Devonshire. 
Her  message  ran : 

DEAR  FRIENDS — 

I  beg  you  to  forgive  me  for  seeming  neglect,  but  it  was  not 
really  that.  I  am  married  to  a  man  I  love.  It  had  to  be  sudden. 
I  could  not  let  you  know  in  time,  though  I  wanted  to.  I  shall 
not  be  quite  happy  till  I've  seen  you  and  introduced  my  husband. 
Say  to  your  cousin  he  may  explain  as  far  as  he  can.  When  we 
meet  will  tell  you  more.  Coming  back  to  London  in  fortnight 
to  take  house  in  Portman  Square  and  settle  down.  Love  and 
gratitude  always.  My  new  name  is  same  as  yours. 

ANNESLEY  SMITH. 


THE  SERIES  GOES  ON  163 

To  tliis  she  added  her  address  in  Devonshire, 
feeling  sure  that,  unless  the  Archdeacon  and  his  wife 
were  hopelessly  offended  by  her  neglect  and  horrified 
at  Ruthven  Smith's  story,  they  would  write. 

She  cared  for  them  very  much,  and  it  would  always 
be  a  grief,  she  thought,  that  she  and  Knight  had  not 
been  married  by  her  old  friend.  Every  night  she 
prayed  for  a  letter,  waking  with  the  hope  that  the 
postman  might  bring  one:  and  five  days  after  the 
sending  of  her  telegram  her  heart  leaped  at  sight  of  a 
fat  envelope  addressed  in  Mrs.  Smith's  familiar 
handwriting. 

They  forgave  her!  That  was  the  principal  thing. 
And  they  rejoiced  in  her  happiness.  All  explana- 
tions— if  "dear  Annesley  wished  to  make  any" — 
could  wait  until  they  met.  The  kind  woman  wrote : 

Cousin  James  Ruthven  Smith  was  loyal  to  his  promise,  and 
gave  us  no  hint  of  your  news.  We  did  not,  of  course,  know 
of  the  promise  till  after  your  telegram  came,  and  we  showed  it 
to  him.  Then  he  confessed  that  he  was  in  your  secret;  that 
he  had  been  witness  of  a  scene  in  which  poor  Mrs.  Ellsworth 
made  herself  more  than  usually  unpleasant;  and  that  you  had 
asked  him  to  let  you  tell  us  the  glad  tidings  of  your  engagement 
and  hasty  wedding. 

I  say  "poor  Mrs.  Ellsworth"  because  it  seems  she  has  been  ill 
since  you  left,  and  has  had  other  misfortunes.  The  illness  is 
not  serious,  and  I  imagine,  now  I  have  heard  fuller  details  of  her 
treatment  of  you,  that  it  is  merely  a  liver  and  nerve  attack,  the 
result  of  temper.  If  she  had  not  been  confined  to  bed,  and  very 
sorry  for  herself,  I  am  sure  nothing  could  have  prevented  her 
from  writing  to  us  a  garbled  account  of  the  quarrel  and  your 
departure. 

As  it  turned  out,  I  hear  she  rang  up  the  household  after  you 


164  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

went  that  night,  had  hysterics,  and  sent  a  servant  flying  for  the 
doctor.  He — a  most  inferior  person,  according  to  Cousin  James 
— having  a  sister  who  is  a  trained  nurse,  put  her  in  charge  of  the 
patient  at  once,  where  she  has  remained  since.  In  consequence 
of  the  nurse's  tyrannical  ways,  the  servants  gave  a  day's  notice 
and  left  in  a  body. 

Three  temporary  ones  were  got  in  as  soon  as  possible  from  some 
agency;  and  last  night  (four  days,  I  believe,  after  they  were 
installed)  a  burglary  was  committed  in  the  house. 

Only  fancy,  poor  Ruthven  I  He  was  afraid  to  stay  even  with 
us  in  our  quiet  house,  when  he  came  to  London,  because  once, 
years  ago,  we  were  robbed !  You  know  how  reticent  he  is  about 
his  affairs,  and  how  he  never  says  anything  concerning  business. 
One  might  think  that  to  us  he  would  show  some  of  the  beautiful 
jewels  he  is  supposed  to  buy  for  the  Van  Vrecks. 

But  no,  he  never  mentions  them.  We  should  not  have  known 
why  he  came  to  England  this  time,  after  a  shorter  interval  than 
usual,  or  that  he  had  valuables  in  his  possession,  if  it  had  not 
been  for  this  burglary.  As  he  was  obliged  to  talk  to  the  police, 
and  describe  to  them  what  had  been  stolen  from  him  (I  forgot  to 
mention  that  he  as  well  as  Mrs.  Ellsworth  was  robbed,  but  you 
would  have  guessed  that,  from  my  beginning,  even  if  you  haven't 
read  the  morning  papers  before  taking  up  my  letter),  there  was 
no  reason  why,  for  once,  he  should  not  speak  freely  to  us. 

He  has  been  lunching  here  and  has  just  gone,  as  I  write,  but 
will  transfer  himself  later  to  our  house,  as  it  has  now  become 
unbearable  for  him  at  Mrs.  Ellsworth's.  I  fancy  that  arrange- 
ment has  been  brought  to  an  end!  Your  presence  in  the  menage 
was  the  sole  alleviation. 

James,  it  appears,  came  to  London  on  an  unexpected  mission, 
differing  from  his  ordinary  trips.  You  may  remember  seeing 
in  the  papers  some  weeks  ago  that  an  agent  of  the  Van  Vreck 
firm  was  robbed  on  shipboard  of  a  lot  of  pearls  and  things  he  was 
bringing  to  show  an  important  client  in  England — some  Indian 
potentate.  James  tells  us  that  he  procured  the  finest  of  the  col- 
lection for  the  Van  Vrecks,  and  as  he  is  a  great  expert,  and  can 
recognize  jewels  he  has  once  seen,  even  when  disguised  or  cut 


THE  SERIES  GOES  ON  165 

up,  or  in  different  settings,  he  was  asked  to  go  to  London  to  help 
the  police  find  and  identify  some  of  the  lost  valuables. 

Also,  he  was  instructed  to  buy  more  pearls,  to  be  sold  to  the 
Indian  customer,  instead  of  those  stolen  from  the  agent  on  ship- 
board. James  had  not  found  any  of  the  lost  things;  but  he  had 
bought  some  pearls  the  day  before  the  burglary  at  Mrs.  Ells- 
worth's. 

Wasn't  it  too  unlucky?  I  have  tried  to  give  the  poor  fellow 
a  little  consolation  by  reminding  him  how  fortunate  it  is  he 
hadn't  bought  more,  and  that  the  loss  will  be  the  Van  Vrecks' 
or  that  of  some  insurance  company,  not  his  personally.  But  he 
cannot  be  comforted.  He  says  that  his  not  having  ten  thousand 
pounds'  worth  of  pearls  doesn't  console  him  for  being  robbed  of 
eight  thousand  pounds'  worth. 

James  has  little  hope  that  the  thieves  will  be  found,  for  he 
feels  that  the  Van  Vrecks  are  in  for  a  run  of  bad  luck,  after  the 
good  fortune  of  many  years.  They  have  lost  the  head  of  the 
firm — "the  great  Paul,"  as  James  calls  him — who  has  definitely 
retired,  and  occupies  himself  so  exclusively  with  his  collection 
that  he  takes  no  interest  in  the  business. 

Then  there  was  the  robbery  on  the  ship,  which,  in  James's 
opinion,  must  have  been  the  work  of  a  masterly  combination. 
And  now  another  theft!  The  poor  fellow  has  quite  lost  his 
nerve,  which,  as  you  know,  has  for  years  not  been  that  of  a 
young  man.  His  deafness,  no  doubt,  partly  accounts  for  the 
timidity  with  which  he  has  been  afflicted  since  the  first  (and 
only  other)  time  he  was  robbed.  And  now  he  blames  it  for  what 
happened  last  night. 

He's  trained  himself  to  be  a  light  sleeper,  and  if  he  could  hear 
as  well  as  other  people,  he  thinks  the  thief  would  have  waked 
him  coming  into  his  room.  Once  in,  the  wretch  must  have 
drugged  him,  because  the  pearls  were  in  a  parcel  under  his  pillow. 
But  how  the  man — or  men — got  into  the  house  is  a  mystery,  un- 
less one  of  the  new  servants  was  an  accomplice. 

Nothing  was  broken  open.  In  the  morning  every  door  and 
window  was  as  usual.  Of  course  the  servants  are  under  suspi- 
cion; but  they  seem  stupid,  ordinary  people,  according  to  James. 


166  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

As  for  Mrs.  Ellsworth,  he  says  she  is  making  a  fuss  over  the 
wretched  bits  of  jewellery  she  lost,  things  of  no  importance. 
She,  too,  slept  through  the  affair,  and  knew  what  had  happened 
only  when  she  waked  to  see  a  safe  she  has  in  the  wall  of  her 
bedroom  wide  open. 

It  seems  that  in  place  of  her  jewel  box  and  some  money  she 
kept  there  was  an  insulting  note,  announcing  that  for  the  first 
time  something  belonging  to  her  would  be  used  for  a  good  pur- 
pose. To  James  this  is  the  one  bright  spot  in  the  darkness. 

When  Annesley  had  read  this  long  letter  with  its 
many  italics,  she  passed  it  to  Knight  who,  in  ex- 
change, handed  her  a  London  newspaper  with  a  page 
folded  so  as  to  give  prominence  to  a  certain  column. 
It  was  an  account  of  the  burglary  at  Mrs.  Ellsworth's 
house,  which  he  had  been  reading. 

Generous  with  money  as  "Nelson  Smith"  was,  he 
was  not  a  man  who  would  allow  himself  to  be  "  done," 
and  in  some  ways  the  Annesley-Setons  were  disap- 
pointed in  the  bargain  they  arrived  at  with  him.  He 
appeared  delighted  with  the  chance  of  getting  their 
London  house,  and  of  having  them  come  to  stay,  in 
order  to  introduce  his  wife  and  himself  to  the  bright- 
est, most  "particular"  stars  in  the  galaxy  of  their 
friends. 

Yet,  when  it  came  to  making  definite  terms  he 
seemed  to  take  it  for  granted  that,  as  the  Annesley- 
Setons  would  be  living  in  the  house  as  guests,  they 
would  not  only  be  willing,  but  anxious,  to  accept  a 
low  price. 

This  had  not  been  their  intention.  On  the  con- 
trary, they  had  meant  their  visit  and  social  offices 


THE  SERIES  GOES  ON  167 

to  be  a  great,  extra  favour,  which  ought  to  raise  rather 
than  lower  the  rent.  In  some  mysterious  way, 
however,  without  appearing  to  bargain  or  haggle, 
Nelson  Smith,  the  young  millionaire  from  America, 
made  his  bride's  relatives  understand  that  he  was 
prepared  to  pay  so  much,  and  no  more.  That  they 
could  take  him  on  his  own  terms — or  let  him  go. 

Terrified,  therefore,  lest  he  and  his  money  should 
slip  out  of  their  hands,  they  snapped  at  his  carelessly 
made  offer  without  venturing  an  objection.  And 
they  realized  at  the  same  time  in  a  way  equally 
mysterious,  and  to  their  own  surprise,  that  not  they 
but  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Nelson  Smith  would  be  master 
and  mistress  of  the  house  in  Portman  Square.  If 
there  were  ever  a  clash  between  wills,  Nelson  Smith's 
would  prevail  over  theirs. 

How  this  impression  was  conveyed  to  their  intel- 
ligence they  could  hardly  have  explained  even  to  each 
other.  The  man  was  so  pleasant,  so  careless  of 
finances  or  conventionalities,  that  not  one  word  or 
look  could  be  treasured  up  against  him. 

"The  fellow's  a  genius!"  Annesley-Seton  said  to 
Constance,  when  they  were  talking  over  the  latest 
phase  of  the  game.  And  they  respected  him. 

Lady  Annesley-Seton  wished  to  bring  to  town  the 
servants,  including  a  wonderful  butler,  who  had  been 
transferred  for  economy's  sake  to  Valley  House. 
This  proposal,  however,  Nelson  Smith  dismissed 
with  a  few  good-natured  words.  He  had  his  eye  upon 
a  butler  whose  brother  was  a  chauffeur. 

"Besides,  it  wouldn't  be  fair  to  Anita,"  he  ex- 


168  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

plained.  "Your  servants  would  scorn  to  take  orders 
from  her,  and  I  want  her  to  learn  the  dignity  of  a 
married  woman  with  responsibilities  of  her  own. 
That's  the  first  step  toward  being  the  perfect  hostess. 
She's  the  sweetest  girl  in  the  world,  but  she's  timid 
and  distrustful  of  herself.  I  want  her  to  know  her 
own  worth,  and  then  it  won't  be  long  before  every- 
one around  her  knows  it." 

There  was  no  answer  to  this  except  acquiescence, 
which  Dick  and  Constance  were  obliged  to  give. 
They  did  give  it:  the  more  readily  because  they  were 
inclined  to  suspect  a  hidden  hint,  a  pill  between  layers 
of  jam. 

If  the  girl  had  been  transferred  from  the  earth  to 
Mars,  the  new  conditions  of  life  could  scarcely  have 
been  more  different  from  the  old  than  was  life  in 
Portman  Square  married  to  Nelson  Smith,  from  the 
treadmill  as  Mrs.  Ellsworth's  slave-companion. 
What  the  Portman  Square  experiences  of  the  bride 
would  have  been  if  Knight  had  allowed  the  Annesley- 
Setons  to  begin  by  ruling  it  would  be  dangerous  to 
say.  But  he  had  taken  his  stand;  and  without  guess- 
ing that  she  owed  her  freedom  of  action  to  her  hus- 
band's strength  of  will,  she  revelled  in  it  with  a  joy 
so  intense  that  it  came  close  to  pain.  Sometimes, 
if  he  were  within  reach,  she  ran  to  find  Knight,  and 
hugged  him  almost  fiercely,  with  a  passion  that  sur- 
prised herself. 

"I'm  so  happy;  that's  all,"  she  would  explain,  if 
he  asked  "What  has  happened?"  "My  soul  was 
buried.  You've  brought  it  back  to  life." 


THE  SERIES  GOES  ON  169 

When  she  said  such  things  Knight  smiled,  and 
seemed  glad.  He  would  hold  her  to  him  for  a  minute, 
or  kiss  her  hand,  like  an  humble  squire  with  a  princess. 
But  now  and  then  he  looked  at  her  with  a  wistfulness 
that  was  like  a  question  she  could  not  hear  because 
she  was  deaf.  She  never  got  any  satisfaction,  though, 
if  she  asked  what  the  look  meant. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.  I  was  only  thinking  of  you,'* 
he  would  answer,  or  some  other  words  of  lover- 
language. 

The  Annesley-Setons'  first  move  on  the  social 
chessboard  was  to  make  use  of  a  pawn  or  two  in  the 
shape  of  "society  reporters."  They  knew  a  few 
men  and  women  of  good  birth  and  no  money  who 
lived  by  writing  anonymously  for  the  newspapers. 
These  people  were  delighted  to  get  material  for  a 
paragraph,  or  photographs  for  their  editors.  Connie 
took  her  new  cousin  to  the  woman  photographer  who 
was  the  success  of  the  moment;  and,  as  she  said  to 
Knight,  "the  rest  managed  itself." 

Meanwhile,  an  application  was  made  to  the  Lord 
Chamberlain  for  Mrs.  Nelson  Smith's  presentation 
by  her  cousin  Lady  Annesley-Seton  at  the  first  Court 
of  the  season.  It  was  granted,  and  the  bride  in 
white  and  silver  made  her  bow  to  their  majesties. 
As  for  Knight,  he  laughingly  refused  Dick's  good 
offices. 

"No  levees  for  me!"  he  said.  "I've  lived  too  long 
in  America,  and  roughed  it  in  too  many  queer  places, 
to  take  myself  seriously  in  knee-breeches.  Besides, 
they  have  to  know  about  your  ancestors  back  to  the 


170  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

Dark  Ages,  don't  they,  or  else  they  'cancel'  you  ?  My 
father  was  a  good  man,  and  a  gentleman,  but  who 
his  father  was  I  couldn't  tell  to  save  my  head.  My 
mother  was  by  way  of  being  a  swell;  but  she  was  a 
foreigner,  so  I  can't  make  use  of  any  of  her  'quarter- 
ings,'  even  if  I  could  count  them." 

Annesley  was  presented  in  February,  and  had  by 
that  time  been  settled  in  Portman  Square  long  enough 
to  have  met  many  of  her  cousins'  friends.  After 
the  Court,  which  launched  her  in  society,  she  and 
Knight  (with  a  list  supplied  by  Connie)  gave  a 
dinner-dance.  The  Countess  de  Santiago  was  not 
asked;  but  soon  afterward  there  was  a  luncheon 
entirely  for  women,  in  American  fashion,  at  which 
the  Countess  was  present. 

When  luncheon  was  over,  she  gave  a  short  lecture 
on  "the  Science  of  Palmistry"  and  "the  Cultivation 
of  Clairvoyant  Powers."  Then  there  was  tea;  and 
the  Countess  allowed  herself  to  be  consulted  by  the 
guests — the  dozen  most  important  women  of  Con- 
nie's acquaintance. 

Annesley,  though  she  was  not  able  to  like  the 
Countess,  was  pleased  with  the  praise  lavished  upon 
her  both  for  her  looks  and  her  accomplishments  that 
afternoon.  She  had  guessed,  from  the  beautiful 
woman's  constrained  manner  when  they  met  at  a  shop 
the  day  after  the  dinner-dance,  that  she  was  hurt  be- 
cause she  had  not  been  invited :  though  why  she  should 
expect  to  be  asked  to  every  entertainment  which  the 
Nelson  Smiths  gave,  Annesley  could  not  see. 

Vaguely  distressed,  however,  by  the  flash  in  the 


THE  SERIES  GOES  ON  171 

handsome  eyes,  and  the  curt  "How  do  you  do?"  the 
girl  appealed  to  Knight. 

"Ought  we  to  have  had  the  Countess  de  Santiago 
last  evening?"  she  asked,  perching  on  his  knee  in 
the  room  at  the  back  of  the  house  which  he  had 
annexed  as  a  "den." 

"Certainly  not,"  he  reassured  her,  promptly.  "All 
the  people  were  howling  swells.  The  Annesley- 
Setons  had  skimmed  the  topmost  layer  of  the  cream 
for  our  benefit,  and  the  Countess  would  have  been 
'out'  of  it  in  such  a  set,  unless  she'd  been  telling 
fortunes.  You  can  ask  her  when  you've  a  crowd  of 
women.  She'll  amuse  them,  and  gather  glory  for 
herself.  But  I'm  not  going  to  have  her  encouraged 
to  think  we  belong  to  her.  We've  set  the  woman  on 
her  feet  by  what  we've  done.  Now  let  her  learn  to 
stand  alone." 

The  ladies'  luncheon  was  a  direct  consequence  of 
this  speech;  but  complete  as  was  the  Countess's 
success,  Annesley  felt  that  she  was  not  satisfied :  that 
it  would  take  more  than  a  luncheon  party  of  which 
she  was  the  heroine  to  content  the  Countess,  now 
that  Nelson  Smith  and  his  bride  had  a  house  and  a 
circle  in  London. 

Occasionally,  when  she  was  giving  an  "At  Home," 
or  a  dinner,  Annesley  consulted  Knight.  "Shall  we 
ask  the  Countess?"  was  her  query,  and  the  first  time 
she  did  this  he  answered  with  another  question: 
"Do  you  want  her  for  your  own  pleasure?  Do 
you  like  her  better  than  you  did?" 

Annesley  had  to  say  "no"  to  this  catechizing, 


172  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

whereupon  Knight  briefly  disposed  of  the  subject. 
"  That  settles  it.  We  won't  have  her." 

And  so,  during  the  next  few  weeks,  the  Countess 
de  Santiago  (who  had  moved  from  the  Savoy  Hotel 
into  a  charming,  furnished  flat  in  Cadogan  Gardens) 
came  to  Portman  Square  only  for  one  luncheon  and 
two  or  three  receptions. 

By  this  time,  however,  she  had  made  friends  of 
her  own,  and  if  she  had  cared  to  accept  a  professional 
status  she  might  have  raked  in  a  small  fortune  from 
her  seances.  She  would  not  take  money,  however, 
preferring  social  recognition;  but  gifts  were  pressed 
upon  her  by  those  who,  though  grateful  and  admir- 
ing, did  not  care  for  the  obligation  to  admit  the 
Countess  into  their  intimacy. 

She  took  the  rings  and  bracelets  and  pendants, 
and  flowers  and  fruit,  and  bon-bons  and  books,  be- 
cause they  were  given  in  such  a  way  that  it  would 
have  been  ungracious  to  refuse.  But  the  givers 
were  the  very  women  whose  bosom  friend  she  would 
have  liked  to  seem,  hi  the  sight  of  the  world:  a 
duchess,  a  countess,  or  a  woman  distinguished  above 
her  sisters  for  some  reason. 

She  worked  to  gain  favour,  and  when  she  had  any 
personal  triumph  without  direct  aid  from  Portman 
Square,  she  put  on  an  air  of  superiority  over  Annesley 
when  they  met.  If  she  suffered  a  gentle  snub,  she 
hid  the  smart,  but  secretly  brooded,  blaming  Mrs. 
Nelson  Smith  because  she  was  asked  to  their  house 
only  for  big  parties,  or  when  she  was  wanted  to 
amuse  their  friends. 


THE  SERIES  GOES  ON  173 

She  blamed  Nelson,  too;  but,  womanlike,  blamed 
Annesley  more.  Sometimes  she  determined  to  put 
out  a  claw  and  draw  blood  from  both,  but  changed 
her  mind,  remembering  that  to  do  them  harm  she 
must  harm  herself. 

Once  it  occurred  to  her  to  form  a  separate,  secret 
alliance  with  Constance  Annesley-Seton.  There 
were  reasons  why  that  might  have  suited  her,  and 
she  began  one  day  to  feel  her  ground  when  Connie 
had  telephoned,  and  had  come  to  her  flat  for  advice 
from  the  crystal.  She  had  "seen  things"  which  she 
thought  Lady  Annesley-Seton  would  like  her  to  see, 
and  when  the  seance  was  ended  in  a  friendly  talk, 
the  Countess  de  Santiago  begged  Constance  to  call 
her  Madalena.  "You  are  my  first  real  friend  in 
England!"  she  said. 

"Except  my  cousin  Anne,"  Connie  amended,  with 
a  sharp  glance  from  the  green-gray  eyes  to  see  whether 
"Madalena"  were  "working  up  to  anything." 

"Oh,  I  can't  count  her!"  said  the  Countess.  "She 
doesn't  like  me.  She  wouldn't  have  me  come  near 
her  if  it  weren't  for  her  husband.  I  am  quick  to 
feel  things.  You,  I  believe,  really  do  like  me  a  little, 
so  I  can  speak  freely  to  you.  And  you  know  you  can 
to  me." 

But  Constance,  in  the  slang  of  her  girlhood  days, 
"  wasn't  taking  any."  She  was  afraid  that  Madalena 
was  trying  to  draw  her  into  finding  fault  with  her  host 
and  hostess,  in  order  to  repeat  what  she  said,  with 
embroideries,  to  Nelson  Smith  or  Annesley.  She 
was  not  a  woman  to  be  caught  by  the  subtleties  of 


174  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

another;  and  in  dread  of  compromising  herself  did 
the  Countess  de  Santiago  an  injustice.  If  she  had 
ventured  any  disparaging  remarks  of  "Cousin 
Anne,"  they  would  not  have  been  repeated. 

The  season  began  early  and  brilliantly  that  year, 
for  the  weather  was  springlike,  even  in  February; 
and  people  were  ready  to  enjoy  everything.  The 
one  blot  on  the  general  brightness  was  a  series  of 
robberies.  Something  happened  on  an  average 
of  every  ten  or  twelve  days,  and  always  hi  an  un- 
expected quarter,  where  the  police  were  not  looking. 

Among  the  first  to  suffer  were  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Nel- 
son Smith.  The  Portman  Square  house  was  broken 
into,  the  thief  entering  a  window  of  the  "den"  on 
the  ground  floor,  and  making  a  clean  sweep  of  all  the 
jewellery  Knight  and  Annesley  owned  except  her 
engagement  ring,  the  string  of  pearls  which  had  been 
her  lover's  wedding  gift,  and  the  wonderful  blue 
diamond  on  its  thin  gold  chain.  These  things  she 
wore  by  night  as  well  as  day;  but  a  gold-chain  bag, 
a  magnificent  double  rope  of  pearls,  a  diamond  dog- 
collar,  several  rings,  brooches,  and  bangles  which 
Knight  had  given  her  since  their  marriage,  all  went. 

His  pearl  studs,  his  watch  (a  present  out  of  Annes- 
ley's  allowance,  hoarded  for  the  purpose),  and  a 
collection  of  jewelled  scarf-pins  shared  the  fate  of  his 
wife's  treasures. 

Unfortunately,  a  great  deal  of  the  Annesley-Seton 
family  silver  went  at  the  same  time,  regretted  by 
Knight  far  beyond  his  own  losses.  Dick  was  in- 


THE  SERIES  GOES  ON  175 

clined  to  be  solemn  over  such  a  haul,  but  Constance 
laughed. 

"Who  cares?"  she  said.  "We've  no  children, 
and  for  my  part  I'm  as  pleased  as  Punch  that  your 
horrid  old  third  cousins  will  come  into  less  when  we're 
swept  off  the  board.  Meanwhile,  we  get  the  insurance 
money  for  'loss  of  use'  again.  It's  simply  splendid. 
And  that  dear  Nelson  Smith  insists  on  buying  the 
best  Sheffield  plate  to  replace  what's  gone.  It's 
handsomer  than  the  real!" 

Neither  she  nor  Dick  lost  any  jewellery,  though 
they  possessed  a  little  with  which  they  had  not  had 
the  courage  to  part.  And  this  seemed  mysterious 
to  Constance.  She  wondered  over  it :  and  remember- 
ing how  the  Countess  de  Santiago  had  prophesied 
another  robbery  for  them,  telephoned  to  ask  if  she'd 
be  "a  darling,  and  look  again  in  her  crystal." 

Madalena  telephoned  back:  "I'll  expect  you  this 
afternoon  at  four  o'clock." 


CHAPTER  XIV 
THE  TEST 

MADALENA  had  meant  to  go  out  that  afternoon, 
but  she  changed  her  mind  and  stopped  at  home.  "I 
know  what  you've  come  for,"  she  said,  as  she  kept 
Connie's  hand  hi  hers.  It  was  an  effective  way  she 
had,  as  if  contact  with  a  person  helped  her  to  read 
the  condition  of  that  person's  mind. 

"Do  you  really?"  exclaimed  Constance.  "Why, 
I — but  you  mean  you've  guessed  what  has  hap — 

"It's  not  guessing,  it's  seeing"  answered  the  Coun- 
tess. "I'm  in  one  of  my  psychic  moods  to-day.  A 
prophecy  of  mine  has  come  true?" 

"No-o — yes.  Well,  in  a  way  you're  right.  In 
a  way  you're  wrong.  What  is  it  you  see?  " 

"I  see  that  you've  lost  something — probably  last 
night.  This  morning  I  waked  with  the  impression. 
I  wasn't  surprised  when  you  telephoned.  Now,  let 
me  go  on  holding  your  hand,  and  think.  I'll  shut  my 
eyes.  I  don't  need  my  room  and  the  crystal.  Yes! 
The  impression  grows  clearer.  You  have  lost  some- 
thing. But  it  is  not  a  thing  to  care  about.  You're 
glad  it's  gone." 

"You  are  extraordinary!"  Constance  wondered 
aloud.  "Can  you  see  what  I  lost — and  whether  it 
was  Dick's  or  mine,  or  both?" 

176 


THE  TEST  177 

"His,"  said  Madalena,  after  shutting  her  eyes 
again.  "His.  And  he  does  not  care  much,  either. 
That  seems  strange.  But  I  tell  you  what  I  feel." 

"You  are  telling  me  the  truth,"  Constance  ad- 
mitted. "Now,  go  on:  tell  what  was  the  thing 
itself — and  the  way  we  lost  it." 

"I  haven't  seen  that  yet.  I  haven't  tried.  Per- 
haps I  shall  be  able  to,  in  the  crystal;  perhaps  not.  I 
don't  always  succeed.  But — it  comes  to  me  sud- 
denly that  this  thing  isn't  directly  or  entirely  what 
brought  you  here?" 

"Right  again,  O  Witch!"  laughed  Connie.  "I 
came  to  ask  you  to  find  out — you're  so  marvellous! — 
why  I  didn't  lose  other  things,  which  I  really  do  value." 

The  two  women  had  been  standing  in  the  drawing 
room,  Lady  Annesley-Seton's  hand  still  in  the  Coun- 
tess's. But  now,  without  speaking  again,  Madalena 
led  her  visitor  into  the  room  adjoining,  which  was 
fitted  up  much  as  the  room  at  the  Devonshire  hotel 
had  been  for  her  first  seance.  The  seeress  gave  her- 
self, here  at  home,  the  same  background  of  purple 
velvet;  the  floor  was  carpeted  with  black,  and  spread 
with  black  fur  rugs;  she  was  never  without  fragrant 
white  lilies  ranged  in  curious  pots  along  the  purple 
walls;  but  in  her  own  house  the  appointments  were 
more  elaborate  and  impressive  than  the  temporary 
fittings  she  carried  about  for  use  when  visiting. 

On  her  table  was  a  cushion  of  cloth-of-gold,  em- 
broidered with  amethysts  and  emeralds,  the  "lucky" 
jewels  of  her  horoscope;  and  her  gleaming  ball  of 
crystal  lay  like  a  bright  bubble  in  a  shallow  cup  of 


178  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

solid  jet  which,  she  told  everyone,  had  been  given 
her  in  India  by  the  greatest  astrologer  in  the  world. 

What  was  the  name  of  this  man,  and  when  she  had 
visited  him  in  India,  she  did  not  reveal. 

They  sat  down  at  the  table,  she  and  Constance 
Annesley-Seton,  opposite  each  other.  Madalena 
unveiled  the  crystal,  which  was  hidden  under  a 
covering  of  black  velvet  when  not  in  use.  At  first 
she  gazed  into  the  glittering  ball  hi  vain,  and  her 
companion  watched  her  face  anxiously.  It  looked 
marble  white  and  expressionless  as  that  of  a  statue 
in  the  light  of  seven  wax  candles  grouped  together 
in  a  silver  candelabrum. 

Suddenly,  as  it  seemed  to  Constance's  hypnotized 
stare,  the  statue-face  "came  alive."  It  was  not 
the  first  time  that  Constance  had  seen  this  thrill- 
ing change.  It  invariably  happened  when  the  crys- 
tal began  to  show  a  picture;  and  so  powerful  was 
its  effect  on  the  nerves  of  the  watcher  in  this  silent, 
perfumed  room,  as  to  give  an  illusion  that  she,  too, 
could  see  dimly  what  the  seeress  saw  forming  hi 
those  transparent  depths. 

"A  man  is  there,"  Madalena  said  in  a  low,  meas- 
ured voice,  as  if  she  were  talking  in  her  sleep.  "He 
is  shutting  a  door.  It  is  the  front  door  of  a  house 
like  yours.  Yes,  it  is  yours.  There  is  the  number 
over  the  door,  and  I  recognize  the  street.  It  is 
Portman  Square.  He  puts  a  latchkey  in  his  pocket. 
How  could  he  have  got  the  key?  I  do  not  know. 
Perhaps  I  could  find  out,  but  there  is  no  time.  I 
must  follow  him. 


THE  TEST  179 

"He  is  hurrying  away.  He  carries  a  heavy  travel- 
ling bag.  A  closed  carriage  is  coming  along — not  a 
public  one.  It  has  been  waiting  for  him  I  think.  He 
gets  in,  and  the  coachman — who  is  in  black — drives 
off  very  fast.  They  go  through  street  after  street!  I 
can't  be  sure  where.  It  seems  to  be  north  they  are 
going.  There's  a  park — Regent's  Park,  maybe.  I 
don't  know  London  well. 

"The  carriage  is  stopping — before  a  closed  house 
in  a  quiet  street.  There  is  a  little  garden  in  front, 
and  a  high  wall.  The  man  opens  the  gate  and  walks 
in.  The  carriage  drives  off.  The  coachman  must 
know  where  to  go,  for  no  word  is  said.  Someone 
inside  the  house  is  waiting.  He  lets  the  man  with 
the  bag  into  a  dark  hallway.  Now  he  shuts  the  door 
and  goes  into  a  room. 

"There  is  a  light.  "  The  first  man  puts  the  bag  on 
a  table;  it  is  a  dining  table.  The  other  man — much 
older — watches.  The  first  one  takes  things  out  of  the 
bag.  Oh,  a  great  deal  of  beautiful  silver !  I  have  seen 
it  at  your  house.  And  there  are  other  things — a 
string  of  pearls  and  a  lot  of 'jewellery.  He  pours  it 
out  of  a  brown  handkerchief  on  to  the  table. 

"But  still  the  second  man  is  not  pleased.  I  think 
he  is  asking  why  there  isn't  more.  The  first  man 
explains.  He  makes  gestures.  So  does  the  other. 
They  are  quarrelling.  The  man  who  brought  the 
bag  is  afraid  of  the  older  one.  He  apologizes.  He 
seems  to  be  talking  about  something  that  he  will  do. 
He  goes  to  a  mantelpiece  in  the  room  and  points  to 
a  calendar.  He  touches  a  date  with  his  forefinger." 


180  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

"What  date?"  Lady  Annesley-Seton  cried  out.  It 
was  forbidden  to  speak  to  the  seeress  in  the  midst 
of  a  vision,  but  Constance  forgot  in  the  strain  of  her 
excitement. 

The  Countess  gave  a  gasp,  fell  back  in  her  chair, 
and  put  her  hands  over  her  eyes.  "Oh!"  she  stam- 
mered, as  though  she  awoke  from  sleep.  "How  my 
head  aches !  It  is  all  gone ! ' ' 

"I'm  so  sorry!"  Constance  apologized.  "It  be- 
gan to  seem  so  real,  I  thought  I  was  in  that  room  with 
you.  You  are  unaccountable!  You  couldn't  know 
what  happened.  Yet  you  have  been  seeing  the 
thief  who  stole  our  silver  last  night,  and  the  Nelson 
Smiths'  jewellery,  but  no  jewellery  of  ours.  That  is 
the  strange  part  of  the  affair,  for  I  have  a  few  things 
I  adore — and  they  would  have  been  easy  to  find. 
You  didn't  even  know  we  had  been  robbed,  did  you?" 

"No,  of  course  not,"  said  the  Countess.  'T  am 
sorry!  Was  it  in  the  papers?" 

"It  will  be  this  evening  and  to-morrow  morning! 
But  the  police  must  hear  about  this  vision  of  yours, 
the  vision  of  the  man  with  the  latchkey.  It  may 
help  them." 

"You  must  not  tell  the  police!"  Madalena  said, 
"I  have  warned  you  all,  that  if  you  talked  too  much 
about  me  and  my  crystal,  the  police  might  hear  and 
take  notice.  There  are  such  stupid  laws  in  England. 
I  may  be  doing  something  against  them.  If  you  or 
Lord  Annesley-Seton  speak  of  me  to  the  police  I 
will  go  away,  and  you  will  never  hear  more  of  my 
visions — as  you  call  them — in  future.  Unless  you 


THE  TEST  181 

promise  that  you  will  let  the  police  find  the  thieves 
in  their  own  way,  without  dragging  me  in,  I  shall 
be  so  unnerved  that  my  eyes  will  be  darkened." 

"Oh,  I  promise,  if  you  feel  so  strongly  about  it,'* 
said  Constance.  "I  didn't  realize  that  it  might  do 
you  harm  to  be  mentioned  to  the  police." 

She  wished  very  much  to  have  Madalena  go  on 
looking  in  the  crystal.  She  had  been  excited,  carried 
out  of  herself  for  a  few  minutes,  but  she  had  not 
heard  what  she  had  come  to  hear — why  she  had 
been  spared  the  loss  of  her  personal  treasures. 

The  desired  promise  hurriedly  made,  the  Countess 
gave  her  attention  once  more  to  the  crystal.  For  a 
time  she  could  see  nothing.  The  mysterious  current 
had  been  severed  by  the  diversion,  and  had  slowly 
to  be  rewoven  by  the  seeress's  will. 

"I  can  see  only  dimly,"  Madalena  said.  "It 
was  clear  before!  I  cannot  tell  you  why  the  things 
you  care  for  were  left.  .  .  .  Something  new  is 
coming.  It  seems  that  this  time  I  am  looking  ahead, 
into  the  future.  The  picture  is  blurred — like  a  badly 
developed  photograph.  The  thing  I  see  has  still  to 
materialize." 

"Where?"  whispered  Constance,  thrilled  by  the 
thought  that  some  event  on  its  way  to  her  down  the 
unknown  path  of  futurity  was  casting  a  shadow  into 
the  crystal.  "Where?" 

"I  see  a  beautiful  room.  There  are  a  number  of 
people  there — men  and  women.  You  are  with  them, 
and  Lord  Annesley-Seton — and  Nelson  Smith  and 
your  cousin  Anne.  I  know  most  of  the  faces — not 


182  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

all.  Everyone  is  excited.  Something  has  hap- 
pened. They  are  talking  it  over.  .  .  .  Now 
I  see  the  room  more  clearly.  It  is  as  if  a  light  were 
turned  on  in  the  crystal.  Oh,  it  is  what  you  call  the 
Chinese  drawing  room,  at  Valley  House.  I  know 
why  the  room  lights  up,  and  why  I  see  everything 
so  much  more  clearly.  It  is  because  I  myself  am 
coming  into  the  picture. 

"The  people  want  me  to  tell  them  the  meaning  of 
the  thing  that  has  happened.  It  seems  that  I 
know  about  it.  I  do  not  hesitate  to  answer.  It 
must  be  that  I  have  been  consulting  the  crystal, 
for  I  seem  sure  of  what  I  say  to  them!  I  point 
toward  the  door — or  is  it  at  something  on  the  wall — 
or  is  it  a  person?  Ah,  the  picture  is  gone  from  the 
crystal!" 

"How  irritating!"  cried  Lady  Annesley-Seton,  who 
felt  that  supernatural  forces  ought  to  be  subject  to 
her  convenience.  "Can't  you  make  it  come  back 
if  you  concentrate?" 

Madalena  shook  her  head.  "No,  it  will  not  come 
back.  I  am  sure  of  that,  because  when  the  crystal 
clouds  as  if  milk  were  pouring  into  it,  I  know  that  I 
shall  never  see  the  same  picture  again.  Whether  it  is 
a  cross  current  in  myself  or  the  crystal,  I  cannot  tell; 
but  it  amounts  to  the  same  thing.  I  am  sorry! 
It  is  useless  to  try  any  more.  Shall  we  go  to  the 
other  room  and  have  tea?" 

Constance  did  not  persist,  as  she  wished  to  do. 
She  had  to  take  the  Countess's  word  that  further 
effort  would  be  useless,  but  she  felt  thwarted,  as  if 


THE  TEST  183 

the  curtain  had  fallen  by  mistake  in  the  middle  of 
an  act,  and  the  characters  on  the  stage  had  availed 
themselves  of  the  chance  to  go  home. 

It  was  vexatious  enough  that  Madalena  had  not 
been  able  to  explain  the  mystery  of  last  night.  But 
this  was  ten  times  more  annoying. 

"Am  I  not  to  know  the  end  of  the  act?"  she  asked 
as  her  hostess  poured  tea.  The  latter  shrugged  her 
shoulders,  as  if  to  shake  off  responsibility.  "Ah, 
I  cannot  tell!  Perhaps  if " 

She  stopped,  and  handed  her  guest  a  cup. 

"  Perhaps  if —what?" 

"Oh,  nothing!"  Madalena  tasted  her  own  tea  and 
put  in  more  cream. 

"Do  tell  me  what  you  were  going  to  say,  dear 
Countess,  unless  you  want  me  to  die  of  curiosity." 

"I  should  be  sorry  to  have  you  do  that!"  smiled 
Madalena.  "But  if  I  said  what  I  was  going  to  say, 
you  might  misunderstand.  You  might  think — I 
was  asking  for  an  invitation." 

Instantly  Constance's  mind  unveiled  the  others 
meaning.  There  was  to  be  an  Easter  party  at  Valley 
House — a  very  smart  party.  The  Countess  de 
Santiago  wished  to  be  a  member  of  it.  Lady  Annes- 
ley-Seton,  shrewd  as  she  was,  had  a  vein  of  super- 
stition running  through  her  nature,  and,  though 
one  side  of  that  nature  said  that  the  scene  with  the 
crystal  had  been  arranged  for  this  end,  the  other 
side  held  its  belief  in  the  vision. 

"You  mean,"  she  said,  "that  if  you  should  be  at 
Valley  House  when  the  thing  happens,  and  we  are 


184  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

puzzled  and  upset  about  it,  you  might  be  able  to 
help?" 

"The  fancy  passed  through  my  head.  It  was  the 
picture  in  the  crystal  suggested  it,"  Madalena  ex- 
plained. "Do  have  an  eclair!"  Face  and  voice 
expressed  indifference;  but  Constance  knew  that  the 
other  had  set  her  heart  on  being  at  Valley  House  for 
Easter;  and  there  was  really  no  visible  reason  why 
she  shouldn't  be  there. 

People  liked  her  well  enough:  she  was  never  a 
bore. 

"Well,  you  must  be  'in  at  the  death,'  with  the 
rest  of  us,"  Lady  Annesley-Seton  assured  her. 
"Of  course,  though  it's  my  house,  this  Easter  party  is 
practically  the  Nelson  Smiths'  affair.  You  know 
what  poverty-stricken  wretches  we  are!  They  are 
paying  all  expenses,  and  taking  the  servants,  so  I 
suppose  I  am  bound  to  go  through  the  form  of 
consulting  Anne  before  I  ask  even  you.  Still 

Madalena's  eyes  flamed.  "Consult  your  cousin's 
husband!"  she  said.  "It  is  only  he  who  counts. 
As  a  favour  to  me,  speak  to  him." 

Constance  smiled  at  the  other  over  her  teacup, 
with  a  narrowed  gaze.  "Why  shouldn't  I  speak  to 
them  together?" 

"Because  I  want  to  know  what  to  think.  If  he 
says  no,  it  will  be  a  test." 

"Very  well,  so  be  it! "  said  Constance,  making  light 
of  what  she  knew  was  somehow  serious.  "I'll  tackle 
Nelson  alone  without  Anne." 

"That  is  all  I  want.     And  if  I  am  asked  to  be  of 


THE  TEST  185 

your  party,  I  think — I  can't  tell  why,  but  I  feel  it 
strongly — that  everybody  may  have  some  reason  for 
being  glad." 

It  seemed  unlikely  there  would  be  a  chance  for  a 
talk  that  evening,  as  Nelson  Smith  was  dining  at 
one  of  the  clubs  he  had  joined.  The  other  three 
members  of  the  household  were  to  have  a  hasty  dinner 
and  go  to  the  first  performance  of  a  new  play — a 
play  in  which  Knight  was  not  interested.  After- 
ward they  expected  to  sup  at  the  Savoy  with  the 
friend  who  had  asked  them  to  her  box  at  the  theatre; 
but  the  box  was  empty  save  for  themselves. 

While  they  wondered,  a  messenger  brought  a  note 
of  regret.  Sudden  illness  had  kept  their  would-be 
hostess  in  her  room. 

Without  her,  the  supper  was  considered  not  worth 
while.  The  play  had  run  late,  and  the  trio  voted 
for  home  and  bed. 

"If  Nelson  has  come,  Fll  try  and  have  a  word  with 
him  to-night,  after  all,"  thought  Constance,  "pro- 
vided I  can  keep  my  promise  by  getting  Anne  out 
of  the  way.  Then  I  can  phone  to  Madalena  early 
in  the  morning,  yes  or  no,  and  put  her  out  of  her  sus- 
pense. No  such  luck,  though,  as  that  he  will  have 
got  back  from  his  club!" 

He  had  got  back,  however.  The  entrance  hall  was 
in  twilight  when  Dick  Annesley-Seton  let  them  into 
the  house  with  his  latchkey,  for  all  the  electric  lights 
save  one  were  turned  off.  That  one  was  shaded  with 
red  silk,  and  in  the  ruddy  glow  it  was  easy  to  see  the 
line  of  light  under  the  door  of  the  "den." 


186  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

Annesley  noticed  it,  but  made  no  comment. 
Knight  never  asked  her  to  join  him  in  the  den,  but 
alluded  to  it  as  an  untidy  place,  a  mere  work  room 
which  he  kept  littered  with  papers;  and  only  the  new 
butler,  Charrington,  was  allowed  to  straighten  its 
disorder. 

This,  of  course,  was  not  butler's  business,  but 
Knight  said  the  footmen  were  stupid,  and  Charring- 
ton had  been  persuaded  or  bribed  into  performing 
the  duty.  Annesley's  life  of  suppression  had  made 
her  shy  of  putting  herself  forward;  and  though 
Knight  had  never  told  her  that  she  would  be  a  dis- 
turbing element  in  the  den,  his  silence  had  bolted  the 
door  for  her. 

Constance,  however,  was  not  so  fastidious. 

"Oh,  look!"  she  said,  before  Dick  had  time  to 
switch  on  another  light.  "Nelson's  got  tired  of  his 
club,  and  come  home!" 

As  she  spoke,  almost  as  if  she  had  willed  it,  the 
door  opened.  But  it  was  not  Knight  who  came  out. 
It  was  the  younger  Charrington,  the  chauffeur,  called 
"Char,"  to  distinguish  him  from  his  solemn  elder 
brother,  the  butler. 

The  red-haired,  red-faced,  black-eyed  young  man 
stopped  suddenly  at  sight  of  the  newcomers.  He 
had  evidently  expected  to  find  the  hall  untenanted. 
Taking  up  his  stand  before  the  door,  he  barred  the 
way  with  his  tall,  liveried  figure,  and  it  struck  Con- 
stance that  he  looked  aggressive,  as  if,  had  he  dared, 
he  would  have  shut  the  door  again,  almost  in  her 
face. 


THE  TEST  187 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  madame ! "  he  said  in  so  loud  a 
voice  that  it  was  like  a  warning  to  his  master  that  an 
intruder  might  be  expected.  It  occurred  to  her  also, 
for  the  first  time,  that  his  accent  sounded  rather 
American,  and  he  had  forgotten  to  address  her  as 
"my  lady." 

This  was  odd,  for  his  brother  was  the  most  typical 
British  butler  imaginable,  as  Nelson  had  remarked 
soon  after  the  two  servants  had  been  engaged. 

She  stared,  surprised;  but  Char  still  kept  the  door 
until  his  master  showed  himself  in  the  lighted  aperture. 
Then  the  chauffeur,  saluting  courteously,  stepped 
aside. 

"Funny  that  he  should  be  here!"  thought  Con- 
stance. She  might  have  been  malicious  enough  to 
imagine  that  Nelson  Smith  had  drunk  too  heavily 
at  his  club,  and  had  been  helped  into  the  house  by 
Char,  who  wished  to  protect  him  until  the  last; 
but  he  was  unmistakably  his  usual  self:  cool,  and 
more  than  ordinarily  alert. 

"Oh,  how  do  you  do?"  he  exclaimed.  "I  heard 
Char  say  'Madame/  and  thought  it  was  Anita  at  the 
door."  * 

"No,  she  has  gone  upstairs,"  explained  Lady  An- 
nesley-Seton.  "So  has  Dick.  I  alone  had  courage 
to  linger!  I  feel  like  Fatima  with  the  blood-stained 
key,  in  Bluebeard's  house,  you  are  such  a  bear  about 
this  den — you  really  are,  you  know!" 

"I  didn't  expect  you  three  so  soon,"  said  Knight, 
calmly.  "If  I'd  known  you  had  a  curiosity  to  see 
Bluebeard's  Chamber,  I'd  have  had  it  smartened  up. 


188  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

As  it  is,  I  shouldn't  dare  let  you  peep.  You,  the 
mistress  of  the  house  before  we  took  it  over,  would  be 
critical  of  the  state  I  delight  to  keep  it  in.  Untidi- 
ness is  my  one  fault!" 

"I'll  put  off  the  visit  till  a  more  propitious  hour," 
Constance  reassured  him,  "if  you'll  spare  me  a  mo- 
ment in  the  hall.  It's  only  a  word — about  Madalena. 
She  has  asked  me  to  call  her  that." 

"The  Countess  de  Santiago?"  Knight  questioned, 
smiling.  He  closed  the  door  of  the  den,  and  came  out 
into  the  hall,  turning  on  still  another  of  the  lights. 

"Yes.  I've  been  to  see  her  to-day.  Will  you 
believe  it,  she  saw  the  whole  affair  of  last  night  in 
her  crystal — and  the  thief,  and  everything!" 

"Oh,  indeed,  did  she?     How  intelligent." 

"But  she  says  we  mustn't  mention  her  name  to 
the  police." 

"She'd  be  lumped  with  common  or  garden  palm- 
ists and  fortune-tellers,  I  suppose." 

"  Yes,  that's  what  she  fears.  But  she  wants  to  be  in 
our  Devonshire  house  party  at  Easter— to  save  us 
from  something." 

Knight  looked  interested.     "Save  us  from  what?" 

"She  couldn't  see  it  distinctly  in  the  crystal." 

He  laughed.  "She  could  see  distinctly  that  she 
wanted  to  be  there.  Well — we  hadn't  thought  of 
having  her.  She  seemed  out  of  the  picture  with  the 
lot  who  are  coming — the  Duchess  of  Peebles,  for  in- 
stance. But  we'll  think  it  over.  Why  don't  you 
ask  Anita?  It  occurs  to  me  that  she  is  the  one  to 
be  consulted." 


THE  TEST  189 

Now  was  the  moment  for  Madalena's  test. 

"The  Countess  wished  me  to  speak  to  you  alone, 
and  let  you  decide.  Probably  because  you're  such 
an  old  friend.  I  think  she  feels  that  Anita  doesn't 
care  for  her." 

Knight's  face  hardened.  "She  gave  you  that 
impression,  did  she?  Yet,  thinking  Anita  doesn't 
like  her — and  she's  nearly  right — she  wants  to  come 
all  the  same.  She  wants  to  presume  on  my — er — 
friendship  to  force  herself  on  my  wife.  .  .  . 
Jove!  I  guess  that's  a  little  too  strong.  It's  time 
we  showed  the  fair  Madalena  her  place,  don't  you 
think  so,  Lady  A?" 

"What,  precisely,  is  her  place?"  Connie  laughed. 

"Well,  she  seems  determined  to  push  herself  into 
the  foreground.  My  idea  is  that  what  artists  call 
middle  distance  is  better  suited  to  her  colouring. 
Seriously,  I  resent  her  putting  you  up  to  appeal  to 
me — over  Anita's  head.  I'm  not  taking  any! 

"Please  tell  her,  or  write — or  phone — or  what- 
ever you've  arranged  to  do — that  we're  both  sorry — 
say  'both,'  please — that  we  don't  feel  justified  in 
persuading  you  to  add  her  to  the  list  of  guests  this 
time,  as  Valley  House  will  be  full  up." 

"She  will  be  hurt,"  objected  Constance. 

"I'm  inclined  to  think  she  deserves  to  be  hurt." 

"Oh,  well,  if  you've  made  up  your  mind!  But— 
she's  a  charming  woman,  of  course.  .  .  .  Still. 
I  shouldn't  wonder  if  there's  something  of  the  tigresi 
in  her,  and  she  could  give  a  nasty  dig." 

"Let  her  try!"  said  Knight. 


190  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

In  the  morning  Constance  telephoned  to  the  flat 
in  Cadogan  Gardens.  She  had  not  long  to  wait  for 
an  answer  to  her  call. 

The  Countess  was  evidently  expecting  to  hear  from 
her  early  in  the  day. 

"He  wasn't  in  the  right  mood,  I'm  afraid,  when  I 
spoke  to  him,"  Connie  temporized.  "He  seemed 
to  resent  your  wish  to — to — as  he  expressed  it — 
'get  at  him  over  Anne's  head." 

"That  is  what  I  wanted  to  be  sure  of,"  Madalena 
answered.  "Now — I  know  !" 


CHAPTER  XV 
NELSON  SMITH  AT  HOME 

THE  Countess  de  Santiago  took  her  defeat  like  a 
soldier.  But  her  line  both  of  attack  and  defence  was 
of  the  sapping-and-mining  order. 

Once  she  had  cared  as  deeply  as  it  was  in  her  to 
care  for  the  man  known  to  London  as  "Nelson 
Smith."  He  was  of  the  type  which  calls  forth  in- 
tense feeling  in  others.  Men  liked  him  immensely 
or  disliked  him  extremely.  Women  admired  him 
fervently  or  detested  him  cordially.  It  was  not 
possible  to  regard  him  with  indifference.  His  per- 
sonality was  too  magnetic  to  leave  his  neighbours 
cold;  and  as  a  rule  it  was  only  those  whom  he  wished 
to  keep  at  a  distance  who  disliked  him. 

As  for  Madalena  de  Santiago,  for  a  time  she  had 
enjoyed  thinking  herself  in  love.  There  were  rea- 
sons, she  knew,  why  she  could  not  hope  to  be  the 
man's  wife,  and  if  he  had  chosen  a  plain  woman  to 
help  him  on  in  the  world  she  would  have  made  no  ob- 
jection to  his  marriage. 

But  at  first  sight  she  had  realized  that  Annesley 
Grayle,  shy  and  unconscious  of  power  to  charm  as 
she  was,  might  be  dangerous. 

Madalena  had  anxiously  watched  the  two  together, 

191 


192  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

and  at  breakfast  the  day  before  the  wedding  she 
had  distrusted  the  light  in  the  man's  eyes  as  he  looked 
at  the  girl.  It  had  seemed  incredible  that  he  should 
be  in  love  with  a  creature  so  pale,  so  formless  still  in 
character  (as  Annesley  appeared  to  Madalena); 
that  a  man  like  "Don"  should  be  caught  by  a  pair 
of  gray  eyes  and  a  softness  which  was  only  the 
beauty  of  youth. 

Still,  the  Countess  had  been  made  to  suffer;  and 
if  she  could  have  found  a  way  to  prevent  the  marriage 
without  alienating  her  friend,  she  would  have  seized 
it.  But  she  could  think  of  no  way,  except  to  drop  a 
sharp  reminder  of  what  Don  owed  to  her.  The  hint 
had  been  unheeded.  The  marriage  had  taken  place, 
and  Madalena  had  been  obliged  to  play  the  part  of 
the  bride's  friend  and  chaperon. 

Afterward,  to  be  sure,  she  had  been  paid.  Her  re- 
ward had  come  in  the  shape  of  invitations  and  meet- 
ings with  desirable  people.  Nelson  Smith's  marriage 
had  given  her  a  place  in  the  world,  and  at  first  her 
success  consoled  her.  Soon,  however,  the  pain  of 
jealousy  overcame  the  anodyne.  She  could  not  rest; 
she  was  forever  asking  herself  whether  Don  were 
glad  of  her  success  for  her  own  sake,  or  because  it 
distracted  her  attention  from  him. 

Was  he  falling  in  love  with  his  wife,  or  was  his  way 
of  looking  at  the  girl,  of  speaking  to  the  girl,  only  an 
intelligent  piece  of  acting  in  the  drama? 

Once  or  twice  Madalena  tried  being  cavalier  in  her 
manner  to  Annesley  (she  dared  not  be  actually  rude) ; 
and  Nelson  Smith  appeared  not  to  notice;  but  after- 


NELSON  SMITH  AT  HOME  193 

ward  the  offender  was  punished — by  missing  some 
invitation.  This  might  have  been  taken  as  the  proof 
for  which  she  searched,  could  she  have  been  sure 
where  lay  the  responsibility  for  the  slight,  whether 
on  the  shoulders  of  Annesley  or  of  Annesley's  hus- 
band. 

Madalena  strove  to  make  herself  believe  that  the 
fault  was  the  girl's.  But  she  could  not  decide. 
Sometimes  she  flattered  her  vanity  that  Annesley  was 
trying  to  keep  her  away  from  Don.  Again,  she 
would  wrap  herself  in  black  depression  as  in  a  pall, 
believing  that  the  man  was  seeking  an  excuse  to  put 
her  outside  the  intimacy  of  his  life. 

Then  she  burned  for  revenge  upon  them  both;  yet 
her  hands  were  tied. 

Her  fate  seemed  to  be  bound  up  with  the  fate  of 
Nelson  Smith,  and  evil  which  might  threaten  his 
career  would  overwhelm  hers  also.  She  spent  dark 
moments  in  striving  to  plan  some  brilliant  yet  safe 
coup  which  would  ruin  him  and  Annesley,  in  case 
she  should  find  out  that  he  had  tired  of  her. 

At  last,  by  much  concentration,  her  mind  devel- 
oped an  idea  which  appeared  feasible.  She  saw  a 
thing  she  might  do  without  compromising  herself. 
But  first  she  must  be  certain  where  the  blame  lay. 

Constance  Annesley-Seton's  explanation  over  the 
telephone  left  her  little  doubt  of  the  truth.  She 
had  the  self-control  to  answer  quietly;  then,  when 
she  had  hung  up  the  receiver,  she  let  herself  go  to 
pieces.  She  raged  up  and  down  the  room,  swearing 
in  Spanish,  tears  tracing  red  stains  on  her  magnolia 


194  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

complexion.  She  dashed  a  vase  full  of  flowers  on 
the  floor,  and  felt  a  fierce  thrill  as  it  crashed  to  pieces. 

"That  is  you,  Michael  Donaldson!"  she  cried. 
"Like  this  I  will  break  you!  That  girl  shall  curse 
the  hour  of  your  meeting.  She  shall  wish  herself 
back  in  the  house  of  the  old  woman  where  she  was  a 
servant!  And  you  can  do  nothing — nothing  to 
hurt  me!" 

Later  that  morning,  when  she  had  composed 
herself,  Madalena  wrote  a  letter  to  Lady  Annesley- 
Seton : 

MY  KIND  FRIEND, — 

I  am  sorry  that  I  may  not  be  with  you  for  Easter,  and  sorry  for 
the  reason.  I  can  read  between  the  lines!  But  that  does  not 
interest  you.  Myself,  I  can  do  no  more  for  your  protection  in 
the  unknown  danger  which  threatens;  but  again  I  am  in  one  of 
those  psychic  moods,  when  I  have  glimpses  of  things  beyond  the 
veil. 

It  comes  to  me  that  if  the  Archdeacon  friend  of  your  cousin 
could  be  asked  to  join  your  house  party  with  his  wife,  and 
especially  with  his  relative  who  is  so  rare  a  judge  of  jewels  (is 
not  his  name  Ruthven  Smith?)  trouble  might  be  prevented. 

This  is  vague  advice.  But  I  cannot  be  more  definite,  because 
I  am  saying  these  things  under  guidance.  I  am  not  responsible, 
nor  can  I  explain  why  the  message  is  sent.  I  feel  that  it  is  im- 
portant. 

But  you  must  not  mention  that  it  comes  from  me.  Nelson 
and  his  wife  would  resent  that;  and  the  scheme  would  fall  to  the 
ground.  Write  and  tell  me  what  you  do.  I  shall  not  be  easy 
in  my  mind  until  your  house  party  is  over.  May  all  go  well! 

Yours  gratefully  and  affectionately, 

MADALENA. 

P.S. — Better  speak  of  having  the  Smiths,  to  Mrs.  Nelson,  not 
her  husband.  He  might  refuse. 


NELSON  SMITH  AT  HOME  195 

Archdeacon  Smith  and  his  wife  and  their  cousin, 
Ruthven  Smith,  were  the  last  persons  on  earth  hi 
whom  Constance  would  have  expected  the  Countess 
de  Santiago  to  interest  herself.  All  the  more,  there- 
fore, was  Lady  Annesley-Seton  ready  to  believe  in  a 
supernatural  influence.  Madalena's  request  to  be 
kept  out  of  the  affair  would  have  meant  nothing  to 
her  had  she  not  agreed  that  the  Nelson  Smiths 
would  object  to  the  Countess's  dictation. 

Constance  proposed  the  Smith  family  as  guests 
in  a  casual  way  to  Annesley  when  they  were  out 
shopping  together,  saying  that  it  would  be  nice  for 
Anne  to  have  her  friends  at  Valley  House. 

"The  Archdeacon  wouldn't  be  able  to  come," 
said  Annesley.  "Easter  is  a  busy  time  for  him,  and 
Mrs.  Smith  wouldn't  leave  him  to  go  into  the 
country." 

"What  a  dear,  old-fashioned  wife!"  laughed 
Connie.  "Well,  what  about  their  cousin,  that  Mr. 
Ruthven  Smith  who  used  to  stay  at  your  'gorgon's' 
till  our  friends  the  burglar-band  calledonhim?  There 
are  things  in  Valley  House  which  would  interest  an 
expert  in  jewels.  And  you've  never  asked  him  to 
anything,  have  you?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Annesley,  "he's  been  invited  every 
time  I've  asked  the  Archdeacon  and  Mrs.  Smith, 
but  he  always  refused,  saying  he  was  too  deaf  and  too 
dull  for  dinner  parties.  I'm  sure  he  would  hate  a 
house  party  far  worse!" 

"Why  not  give  the  poor  man  a  chance  to  decide?" 
Constance  persisted.  "He  must  be  a  nervous  wreck 


196  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

since  the  burglary.  A  change  ought  to  do  him  good. 
Besides,  he  would  love  Valley  House.  If  you  like 
to  make  a  wager,  I'll  bet  you  something  that  he'd 
jump  at  the  invitation." 

Annesley  refused  the  wager,  but  she  agreed  that  it 
would  be  nice  to  have  all  three  of  the  Smiths. 

Constance  was  supposed  to  be  hostess  in  her  own 
house,  though  Knight  was  responsible  for  the  finan- 
cial side  of  the  Easter  plan,  and  it  was  for  her  to  ask 
the  guests,  even  those  chosen  by  the  Nelson  Smiths. 
Remembering  Madalena's  hint  that  Nelson  might 
refuse  to  add  Ruthven  Smith's  name  to  the  list, 
Connie  gave  Annesley  no  time  to  consult  her  hus- 
band. While  her  companion  was  being  fitted  for  a 
frock  at  Harrod's,  Lady  Annesley-Seton  availed 
herself  of  the  chance  to  write  two  letters,  one  to  Mrs. 
Smith,  inviting  her  and  the  Archdeacon;  another  to 
Ruthven,  saying  that  she  wrote  at  "dear  Anne's 
express  wish"  as  well  as  her  own. 

She  added  cordially  on  her  own  account: 

I  have  heard  so  much  of  you  from  Anne  that  it  would  be  a 
pleasure  to  show  you  the  Valley  House  treasures,  which,  I  think, 
you  would  appreciate.  Do  come! 

She  stamped  her  letters  and  slipped  them  into  the 
box  at  the  Harrod  post  office  before  going  to  see 
if  Anne  were  ready.  Nothing  more  was  said  about 
the  invitation  for  the  Smiths  until  that  evening  at 
dinner,  when  it  occurred  to  Annesley  to  mention  it. 
Knight  had  come  home  late,  just  in  time  to  dress, 
and  she  had  not  thought  to  speak  of  the  house  party. 


NELSON  SMITH  AT  HOME  197 

"Oh,  Knight,"  she  said,  "Cousin  Constance  pro- 
posed asking  the  Archdeacon  and  his  wife  and  Mr. 
Ruthven  Smith.  I'm  sure  the  Archdeacon  can't 
come,  but  Mr.  Ruthven  might  perhaps 

"Oh,  I  don't  think  I'd  have  him  with  a  lot  of 
people  he  doesn't  know  and  who  don't  want  to  know 
him,"  Knight  vetoed  the  idea.  "He's  clever  in  his 
way,  but  it's  not  a  social  way.  Among  the  lot  we're 
going  to  have  he'd  be  like  an  owl  among  peacocks." 

"But  he'd  love  their  jewels,"  Annesley  persevered. 
"They'll  bring  some  of  the  most  beautiful  ones  in 
England.  You  said  so  yourself." 

"I'm  thinking  more  of  their  pleasure  than  his," 
said  Knight.  "He's  deaf  as  well  as  dull.  The  pea- 
cocks are  invited  already,  and  the  owl  isn't,  so ' 

"I'm  afraid  he  is!  When  Anne  agreed  that  she'd 
like  to  have  the  Smiths  I  wrote  at  once;  and  by  this 
time  they've  got  my  letters,"  Constance  broke  in 
with  a  pretence  at  penitence.  "Oh,  dear,  I  have  put 
my  foot  into  it  with  the  best  intentions!  What 
shall  we  do?" 

" Nothing,"  said  Knight.  "If  they've  been  asked, 
they  must  come  if  they  want  to.  I  doubt  if  they 
will." 

That  doubt  was  dispelled  with  the  morning  post. 
Mrs.  Smith  was  full  of  regrets  for  herself  and  the 
Archdeacon,  but  Ruthven  accepted  in  his  precise 
manner  with  "much  pleasure  and  gratitude  for  so 
kind  an  attention."  The  matter  was  settled,  and 
Connie  telephoned  to  Madalena. 

"No  Archdeacon;  no  Mrs.  Archdeacon!     But  I've 


198  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

bagged  the  jewel-man.  Will  he  be  strong  enough 
alone  to  spread  over  us  that  mantle  of  mysterious 
protection  your  crystal  showed  you?" 

"I  hope  so,"  the  Countess  answered. 

Yet  the  woman  at  the  other  end  of  the  wire  thought 
the  voice  sounded  dull,  and  was  disappointed,  even 
vaguely  anxious.  Her  anxiety  would  have  increased  if 
she  could  have  seen  the  face  of  the  seeress.  Now  that 
the  match  was  close  to  the  fuse,  Madalena  had  a  wild 
impulse  to  draw  back.  It  was  not  too  late.  Noth- 
ing irrevocable  had  been  done.  Ruthven  Smith's 
acceptance  of  the  invitation  to  Valley  House  would 
mean  only  a  few  days  of  boredom  for  his  fellow  guests, 
unless — she  herself  made  the  next  move  in  the  game. 

Before  she  decided  to  make  it,  she  resolved  to  sec 
the  man  of  whom  she  thought  as  Michael  Donaldson. 

So  far  nothing  had  happened  to  raise  any  visible 
barrier  between  them.  She  was  not  supposed  to 
know  that  he  did  not  want  her  to  join  the  Easter 
house  party,  and  he  and  she  and  Annesley  were  on 
friendly  terms.  It  would  be  easy  for  her  to  see 
Don,  to  see  him  alone,  if  she  could  only  choose 
the  right  time,  unless —  There  was  an  "unless," 
but  she  thought  the  face  of  the  butler  would  settle  it. 

There  were  certain  times  on  certain  days  when 
Nelson  Smith  was  "at  home"  for  certain  people. 
These  days  were  not  those  when  Annesley  and  Con- 
stance were  "at  home." 

In  fact,  they  had  been  chosen  purposely  in  order 
not  to  clash. 

The  American  millionaire  had,  from  his  first  ap- 


NELSON  SMITH  AT  HOME  199 

pearance  in  London,  interested  himself  in  more  than 
one  charitable  society.  Representatives  of  these 
associations  called  upon  him  during  appointed  hours, 
and  were  shown  straight  to  his  "den."  Indeed,  they 
were  the  only  persons  welcomed  there,  but  the  Coun- 
tess de  Santiago  had  some  reason  to  expect  that  an 
exception  might  be  made  in  her  favour. 

Luckily,  the  day  when  she  heard  the  news  from 
Lady  Annesley-Seton  was  one  of  the  two  days  in  the 
week  when  Nelson  Smith  was  certain  not  to  be  out 
of  the  house  in  the  afternoon.  Luckily  also  she 
knew  that  his  wife  was  equally  certain  to  be  absent. 
"Anita"  was  going  to  play  bridge  at  a  house  where 
Madalena  was  invited. 

She  got  her  maid  to  telephone  an  excuse — "the 
Countess  had  a  bad  headache."  Had  she  said  heart- 
ache it  would  have  been  nearer  the  truth.  But  one 
does  not  tell  the  truth  in  these  matters. 

Not  for  years — not  since  the  strenuous  times  when 
Don  had  saved  her  from  serious  trouble  and  put  her 
on  the  road  to  success  had  Madalena  de  Santiago 
been  so  unhappy.  Whichever  way  she  looked  she 
saw  darkness  ahead,  yet  she  hoped  something  from 
her  talk  with  Don — just  what,  she  did  not  specify  to 
herself  in  words,  but  "something" 

"I  wish  to  see  Mr.  Nelson  Smith  on  important  busi- 
ness," she  said,  looking  the  butler  straight  in  the  eyes. 
It  was  he  who  opened  the  door  of  the  Portman  Square 
house  on  the  "charity  days."  He  gave  her  back 
look  for  look,  losing  the  air  of  respectable  servitude 
and  suddenly  becoming  a  human  being. 


200  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

"Mr.  Smith  is  not  alone,"  he  answered,  contriving 
to  give  some  special  meaning  to  the  ordinary  words 
which  made  them  almost  cryptic.  "But  I  think  he 
will  be  free  before  long,  if  you  care  to  wait,  madame, 
and  I  will  mention  that  you  are  here." 

"You  must  say  it  is  important,"  she  impressed 
upon  him  as  she  was  ushered  into  a  little  reception 
room. 

A  few  minutes  later  Charrington  took  her  to  the 
door  of  the  "den,"  where  Knight  received  her  with 
casual  cheerfulness. 

"This  is  an  unexpected  pleasure!"  he  said. 

"Don't  let  us  bother  with  conventionalities,  Don!" 
she  exclaimed,  her  emotion  showing  itself  in  petu- 
lance. "I  had  to  come  and  have  an  understanding 
with  you." 

"An  understanding?"  Knight  was  very  calm,  so 
calm  that  she — who  knew  him  in  many  phases — was 
stung  with  the  conviction  that  he  needed  to  ask  no 
questions.  He  was  temporizing;  and  her  anger- 
passionate,  unavailing  anger,  beating  itself  like 
waves  on  the  rock  of  his  strong  nature — broke  out  in 
tears. 

"You  know  what  I  mean!"  She  choked  on  the 
words.  "You're  tired  of  me!  There's  nothing  more 
I  can  do  for  you,  and  so — and  so — oh,  Don,  say  I'm 
wrong!  Say  it's  a  mistake.  Say  it's  not  you  but 
she  who  doesn't  want  me.  She's  jealous.  Only  say 
that.  It's  all  I  want.  Just  to  know  it  is  not  you 
who  are  so  cruel — after  the  past!" 

Knight  remained  unmoved.     He  looked  straight 


201 

at  her,  frowning.  " What  past?"  he  inquired, 
blankly. 

"You  ask  me  that — you?" 

"We  have  never  been  anything  to  one  another,'* 
Knight  said.  "Not  even  friends.  You  know  that 
as  well  as  I  do.  We've  been  valuable  to  each  other 
after  a  fashion,  I  to  you,  you  to  me,  and  we  can  be  the 
same  in  future  if  you  don't  choose  to  play  the  fool." 

She  was  cowed,  and  hated  herself  for  being  cowed — 
hated  Knight,  too. 

"What  do  you  call  playing  the  fool?"  she  asked. 

"Behaving  as  you're  behaving  now;  and  as  you've 
been  behaving  these  last  few  weeks.  I'm  not  blind, 
you  know.  You  have  been  trying  your  power  over 
me.  I  suppose  that's  what  you'd  call  the  trick. 
Well,  my  dear  Madalena,  it  won't  work.  I  hoped 
you  might  realize  that  without  making  a  scene;  but 
you  wouldn't.  You've  brought  this  on  yourself,  and 
there's  nothing  for  it  now  but  a  straight  talk. 

"My  wife  is  not  jealous.  It's  not  in  her  to  be 
jealous.  If  she  doesn't  like  you,  Madalena,  it's 
instinctive  mistrust.  I  don't  think  she's  even  seen 
the  claws  sticking  out  of  the  velvet.  But  I  have. 
I've  seen  exactly  what  you  are  up  to.  You  talk 
about  our  *  past'.  You  want  to  force  my  hand.  You 
expect  me,  because  I've  been  a  decent  pal,  and  paid 
what  I  thought  was  due,  to  pay  higher,  a  fancy  price. 
I  won't.  My  wife  had  no  hand  in  keeping  you  out  of 
the  Easter  house  party.  It  was  I  who  said  you 
weren't  to  be  asked.  You  had  to  be  taught  that  you 
couldn't  dictate  terms.  You  wouldn't  take  'no'  for 


202 

an  answer,  so  the  lesson  had  to  be  more  severe  than  I 
meant.  Now  we  understand  each  other." 

"I  doubt  it!"  cried  Madalena. 

"  You  mean  I  don't  understand  you  ?  I  think  I  do, 
my  friend.  And  I'm  not  afraid.  If  I'm  not  a  white 
angel,  certainly  you're  not.  We're  tarred  with  the 
same  brush.  Forget  this  afternoon,  if  you  like,  and 
I'll  forget  it.  We  can  go  back  to  where  we  were 
before.  But  only  on  the  promise  that  you'll  be 
sensible.  No  cat-scratchings.  No  mysteries." 

It  was  all  that  the  Countess  de  Santiago  could  do 
to  bite  back  the  threat  which  alone  could  have  given 
her  relief.  Yet  she  did  bite  it  back.  Her  triumph 
would  be  incomplete  in  ruining  the  man  if  he  could 
not  know  that  he  owed  his  punishment  to  her.  But 
she  must  be  satisfied  with  the  second  best  thing. 
She  dared  not  put  him  on  his  guard,  and  she  dared  not 
let  him  guess  that  she  meant  to  strike. 

He  would  wonder  perhaps,  when  the  blow  fell,  and 
say  to  himself,  "Can  Madalena  have  done  this?" 
She  must  so  act  that  his  answer  would  be,  "No.  It's 
an  accident  of  fate."  Knight  was  not  the  sort  of 
man  who  for  a  mere  wandering  suspicion,  without  an 
atom  of  proof,  would  pull  a  woman  down.  And  there 
would  be  no  proof. 

"You  are  not  kind,"  was  the  only  reponse  she  ven- 
tured. "And  you  are  not  just.  I  did  not  want  to 
'scratch.'  I  would  not  injure  you  for  the  world, 
even  if  I  could.  Yet  it  does  hurt  to  think  our  friend- 
ship in  the  past  has  meant  nothing  to  you,  when  it 
has  meant  so  much  to  me.  It  hurts.  But  I  must 


NELSON  SMITH  AT  HOME  203 

bear  it.  I  shall  not  trouble  you  about  my  feelings 
again." 

If  she  had  hoped  that  her  meekness  might  make 
him  relent  she  was  disappointed.  He  merely  said, 
"Very  good.  We'll  go  back  to  where  we  were." 

That  same  evening  Madalena  wrote  to  Ruthven 
Smith.  She  took  pains  to  disguise  her  handwriting, 
and  not  satisfied  with  that  precaution,  went  out  in  a 
taxi  and  posted  the  letter  in  Hampstead. 

It  was  a  short  letter,  and  it  had  no  signature;  but  it 
made  an  impression  on  Ruthven  Smith. 


CHAPTER  XVI 
WHY  RUTHVEN  SMITH  WENT 

NEVER  in  his  life  had  Ruthven  Smith  been  blessed 
or  cursed  by  an  anonymous  letter.  He  did  not  know 
what  to  make  of  it,  or  how  to  treat  it.  Instead  of 
exciting  him,  as  it  might  had  he  been  a  man  of  mer- 
curial temperament,  it  irritated  him  intensely. 

That  was  the  way  when  things  out  of  the  ordinary 
happened  to  Ruthven  Smith:  he  resented  them.  He 
was  not — and  recognized  the  fact  that  he  was  not — 
the  type  of  man  to  whom  things  ought  to  happen. 
It  was  only  one  strange  streak  of  the  artistic  in  his 
nature  which  made  him  a  marvellous  judge  of  jewels, 
and  attracted  adventures  to  come  near  him. 

He  was  constitutionally  timid.  He  was  conven- 
tional, and  prim  in  his  thoughts  of  life  and  all  he 
desired  it  to  give.  He  was  a  creature  of  a  past  genera- 
tion; and  whenever  in  time  he  had  chanced  to  exist 
he  would  always  have  lagged  a  generation  behind. 
But  there  was  that  one  colourful  streak  which  some- 
how, as  if  by  a  mistake  in  creation,  had  shot  a  narrow 
rainbow  vein  through  his  drab  soul,  like  a  glittering 
opal  in  gray-brown  rock. 

He  loved  jewels.  He  had  known  all  about  them  by 
instinct  even  before  he  knew  by  painstaking  research. 

204 


WHY  RUTHVEN  SMITH  WENT       205 

He  could  judge  jewels  and  recognize  them  under  any 
disguise  of  cutting.  He  could  do  this  better  than 
almost  any  one  in  the  world,  and  he  could  do  nothing 
else  well;  therefore  it  was  preordained  that  he  should 
find  his  present  position  with  some  such  firm  as  the 
Van  Vrecks;  and,  being  in  it,  adventures  were  bound 
to  come. 

Many  attempts  to  rob  him  had  doubtless  been 
made.  One  had  lately  succeeded.  His  nerves  were 
in  a  wretched  state.  He  was  "jumpy"  by  day  as 
well  as  night;  and  sometimes,  when  at  his  worst,  he 
even  felt  for  five  minutes  at  a  time  that  he  had  better 
hand  in  his  resignation  to  the  firm  who  had  employed 
him  for  nearly  twenty  years,  and  retire  into  private 
life,  like  a  harried  mouse  into  its  hole. 

But  that  was  only  when  he  was  at  his  very  worst. 
Deep  down  within  him  he  was  aware  that,  while  the 
breath  of  life  and  his  inscrutable  genius  were  to- 
gether in  him,  he  could  not,  would  not,  resign. 

It  was  part  of  Ruthven  Smith,  an  intimate  part  of 
him,  not  to  be  able  to  decide  for  a  long  time  what  to 
do  when  he  was  confronted  with  one  of  those  emer- 
gencies unsuited  to  his  temperament.  He  was  afraid 
of  doing  the  wrong  thing,  yet  was  too  reserved  to 
consult  any  one.  He  generally  counted  on  blundering 
through  somehow;  and  so  it  was  in  the  matter  of  the 
anonymous  letter. 

He  had  heard,  and  dimly  believed,  that  it  was 
morally  wrong,  and,  still  worse,  quite  bad  form,  to 
take  notice  of  anonymous  letters.  But  this  one  must 
be  different,  it  seemed  to  him,  from  any  other  which 


206  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

anybody  had  ever  received.  Duty  to  his  employers 
and  duty  to  the  one  thing  he  really  loved  was  above 
any  other  duty;  and  for  fear  of  losing  forever  an 
immense,  an  unhoped-for  advantage,  which  might 
possibly  be  gained,  he  dared  not  ignore  the  letter. 

At  all  events,  he  had  told  himself,  no  matter  what 
he  might  decide  later,  it  was  just  as  well  that  he  had 
accepted  the  invitation  to  Valley  House.  Perhaps 
someone — he  could  not  think  who — was  playing  a 
stupid  practical  joke,  with  the  object  of  getting  him 
there.  But  he  would. risk  that  and  go,  and  let  his 
conduct  shape  itself  according  to  developments. 

For  instance,  if  his  eyes  were  able  to  detect  the 
small  detail  mysteriously  mentioned  in  the  letter,  he 
would  feel  bound  to  act  as  it  suggested;  yes,  bound  to 
act — but  how  unpleasant  it  would  be! 

And  the  worst  of  the  whole  unpalatable  affair  was 
that  if  he  did  act  in  that  suggested  way,  and  if  he  ac- 
complished what  he  might,  with  dreadful  deftness,  be 
supposed  to  accomplish,  it  would  be  the  moment 
when  perhaps  he  might  be  fooled. 

If  the  letter  were  written  by  a  practical  joker,  he 
would  be  made  to  look  ridiculous  in  the  eyes  of  all 
who  were  in  the  secret.  And  that  thought  brought 
him  back  to  the  question  which  over  and  over  he 
asked  in  his  mind.  Who  could  have  written  the 
anonymous  letter? 

It  must  be  someone  acquainted  with  him,  or  with 
his  profession;  someone  who  knew  the  Nefeon 
Smiths  and  the  Annesley-Setons  well  enough  to  be 
aware  that  there  was  to  be  an  Easter  party  at  Valley 


WHY  RUTHVEN  SMITH  WENT       207 

House.  The  writer  hinted  in  vague  terms  that  he 
was  a  private  detective  aware  of  certain  things,  yet 
so  placed  that  he  could  have  no  handling  of  the  affair, 
except  from  a  distance,  and  through  another  person. 
He  pretended  a  disinterested  desire  to  serve  Ruthven 
Smith,  and  signed  himself,  "A  Well  Wisher";  but 
the  nervous  recipient  of  the  advice  felt  that  his  corre- 
spondent was  quite  likely  to  be  of  the  class  opposed 
to  detectives. 

What  if  there  were  some  scheme  for  a  robbery  on  a 
vast  scale  at  Valley  House,  and  this  letter  were  part 
of  the  scheme?  WTiat  if  the  band  of  thieves  sup- 
posed to  be  "working"  lately  in  London  should  try 
to  make  him  a  cat's  paw  in  bringing  off  their  big 
haul? 

This  was  a  terrifying  idea,  and  more  feasible  than 
the  one  suggested  by  the  anonymous  writer,  that 
Mrs.  Nelson  Smith  should — oh,  certainly  it  seemed 
the  wildest  nonsense ! 

Still,  there  was  his  duty  to  the  Van  Vrecks.  They 
must  be  considered  ahead  of  everything!  So  Ruth- 
ven Smith,  nervous  as  a  rabbit  who  has  lost  its  war- 
ren, travelled  down  to  Devonshire  on  Saturday  after- 
noon, invited  to  stay  at  Valley  House  till  Tuesday. 

It  was  as  Knight  had  said :  the  dull,  deaf  man  was 
as  completely  out  of  the  picture  in  that  house  party 
as  an  owl  among  peacocks;  for  he  was  an  inarticu- 
late jperson  and  could  not  talk  interestingly  even  on 
his  own  subject,  jewels.  His  idea  of  conversation 
with  women  was  a  discussion  of  the  weather,  con- 
trasting that  of  England  with  that  of  America,  or 


208  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

perhaps  touching  upon  politics.  He  was  afraid  of 
questions  about  jewels  lest  he  should  allow  himself 
to  be  pumped,  and  the  information  he  might  inadver- 
tently give  away  be  somehow  "used." 

But  he  was  by  birth  and  education  a  gentleman; 
and  his  relationship  to  Archdeacon  Smith,  whom 
everybody  liked,  was  a  passport  to  people's  kindness. 

Duchesses  and  countesses  were  of  no  particular 
interest  to  Ruthven  Smith,  but  their  adornments 
were  fascinating.  At  Valley  House  one  duchess  and 
several  countesses  were  assembled  for  the  Easter 
party,  and  they  were  women  whose  jewels  were  fa- 
mous. Most  of  these  were  family  heirlooms,  but 
their  present  owners  had  had  the  things  reset,  and 
no  queen  of  fairyland  or  musical  comedy  could  have 
owned  more  becoming  or  exquisitely  designed  tiaras, 
crowns,  necklaces,  earrings,  dog-collars,  brooches, 
bracelets,  and  rings  than  these  great  ladies. 

For  this  reason  the  ladies  themselves  were  interest- 
ing to  Ruthven  Smith,  and  he  might  have  been  equally 
so  to  them  if  he  would  have  told  them  picturesquely 
all  he  knew  about  the  history  of  their  wonderful  dia- 
monds, pearls,  emeralds,  and  rubies.  It  was  too  bad 
that  he  wouldn't,  for  there  was  not  a  famous  jewel  in 
England  or  Europe  of  which  Ruthven  Smith  had  not 
every  ancient  scandal  in  connection  with  it  at  his 
tongue's  end. 

But  on  his  tongue's  end  it  stayed,  even  when,  for 
the  sake  of  his  own  pleasure  if  nothing  else,  his  hosts 
and  hostesses  tried  to  draw  him  out. 

Nevertheless,  he  was  not  sorry  that  he  had  come. 


WHY  RTJTHVEN  SMITH  WENT       209 

There  was  an  element  of  joy  in  seeing,  met  together, 
and  sparkling  together,  those  exquisite,  historic 
beauties  of  which  he  had  read. 

It  had  been  a  bother  to  Lady  Annesley-Seton  and 
her  cousin  Anne  to  decide  how  Ruthven  Smith  should 
be  put  at  table.  In  a  way,  he  was  an  outsider,  the 
only  one  among  the  guests  without  a  title  or  military 
rank  which  mechanically  indicated  his  place  in  rela- 
tion to  others.  Besides,  no  woman  would  want  to 
have  him  to  scream  at. 

Fortunately,  however,  there  were  two  women 
asked  on  account  of  their  husbands,  and  so — accord- 
ing to  Connie's  code — of  no  importance  in  themselves. 
Providence  meant  them  to  be  pushed  here  and  there 
/like  pawns  on  a  chessboard;  and  they  were  pushed 
to  either  side  of  Ruthven  Smith  at  the  dinner-table 
on  Saturday  night. 

Both  had  been  placated  by  being  told  beforehand 
what  a  wonderful  man  he  was,  with  frightfully  excit- 
ing things  to  say,  if  he  could  tactfully  be  made  to  say 
them.  But  only  one  of  the  two  had  courage  or 
spirit  to  rise  to  the  occasion — the  woman  he  was 
given  to  take  in,  a  Lady  Cartwright,  married  to 
Major  Sir  Elmer  Cartwright,  who  was  always  asked 
to  every  house  whenever  the  Duchess  of  Peebles 
was  invited. 

Lady  Cartwright  was  Irish,  wrote  plays,  had  a 
sense  of  humour,  and  was  not  jealous  of  the  Duchess. 
Because  she  wrote  plays,  she  was  continually  in 
search  of  material,  digging  it  up,  even  when  it  looked 
unpromising. 


210  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

"I  have  heard  such  charming  things  about  you," 
she  began. 

"I  beg  your  pardon!"  said  Ruthven  Smith,  unable 
to  believe  his  ears.  And  because  he  was  somewhat 
deaf  himself,  he  could  not  gauge  the  inflections  of  his 
own  voice.  Sometimes  he  spoke  almost  in  a  whisper, 
sometimes  very  loudly.  This  time  he  spoke  loudly, 
and  several  people,  surprised  at  the  sound  rising 
above  other  sounds  like  spray  from  a  flowing  river, 
paused  for  an  instant  to  listen. 

"What  a  wonderful  expert  in  jewels  you  are," 
Lady  Cartwright  replied  in  a  higher  tone,  realizing 
that  she  had  a  deaf  man  to  deal  with.  "And  that 
you  have  been  one  of  the  sufferers  from  that  gang  of 
thieves  Scotland  Yard  can't  lay  its  hands  on." 

Ruthven  Smith  was  on  the  point  of  shrinking  into 
himself,  as  was  his  wont  if  any  personal  topic  of  con- 
versation came  up,  when  it  flashed  into  his  mind  that 
here  was  an  opportunity.  If  he  did  not  take  it,  so 
easy  a  one  might  not  occur  again.  He  braced  him- 
self for  a  supreme  effort. 

"Oh,  yes,  yes,  I  was  robbed,"  he  admitted.  "A 
serious  loss!  Some  fine  pearls  I  had  been  buying — 
not  for  myself,  but  for  the  Van  Vrecks.  I  seldom 
collect  valuables  for  myself.  I  only  wish  these 
things  had  been  mine.  I  should  not  have  that  sense 
of  being  an  unfaithful  servant — though  I  did  my 
best- 

"Of  course  you  did,"  Lady  Cartwright  soothed 
him.  "But  these  thieves — if  it's  the  same  gang,  as 
we  all  think — are  too  clever  for  the  cleverest  of  us. 


WHY  RUTHVEN  SMITH  WENT       211 

As  for  the  police,  they  seem  to  be  nowhere.  I 
I  haven't  suffered  yet,  but  each  morning  when  I  wake 
up,  I'm  astonished  to  find  everything  as  usual.  Not 
that  it  wouldn't  seem  as  usual,  even  if  the  gang  had 
paid  us  a  visit  and  made  a  clean  sweep  of  our  poor 
possessions.  They  appear  to  be  able  to  leak  through 
keyholes,  as  nothing  hi  the  houses  they  go  to  is  ever 
disturbed." 

"Anyhow,  they  have  latchkeys,"  retorted  Ruthven 
Smith,  with  what  for  him  might  be  considered  gaiety 
of  manner.  "The  thief  or  thieves  who  relieved  me  of 
my  pearls — or  rather,  my  employer's  pearls — ap- 
parently walked  in  as  a  member  of  the  household 
might  have  done." 

Among  those  who  had  involuntarily  suspended 
talk  to  hear  what  Ruthven  Smith  was  saying  about 
jewels  and  jewel  thieves  was  Annesley.  Though  the 
party  would  never  have  been  but  for  Knight  and 
herself,  Dick  and  Constance  were  playing  host  and 
hostess  with  all  the  outward  responsibility  of  those 
parts.  Lord  Annesley-Seton  had  a  duchess  on  his 
right,  a  countess  on  his  left;  Lady  Annesley-Seton 
was  fenced  in  by  the  duke  and  the  count  pertaining  to 
these  ladies;  Mrs.  Nelson  Smith  sat  between  two  less 
important  men,  who  liked  the  dinner  provided  by  the 
American  millionaire's  miraculous  new  chef,  and  they 
could  safely  be  neglected  for  a  moment. 

Annesley  felt  that  Ruthven  Smith  was,  in  a  way, 
her  special  guest,  and  she  was  anxious  that  he  should 
not  be  the  failure  Knight  had  prophesied.  She 
wanted  him  not  to  regret  that  he  had  flung  himself  on 


212  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

the  tender  mercies  of  this  smart  house  party,  and 
almost  equally  she  wanted  his  two  neighbours  not  to 
be  bored  by  him.  Knight  would  hate  that.  He  at- 
tached so  much  importance  to  amusing  the  people 
whom  he  invited! 

She  listened  and  thought  that  Mr.  Ruthven  Smith 
and  Lady  Cartwright  seemed  to  have  begun  well. 
Then,  as  she  turned  to  Lady  Cartwright's  handsome 
husband  (the  Duchess  of  Peebles  was  talking  to  Dick 
Annesley-Seton  just  then),  she  caught  the  word 
"latchkey." 

It  seized  her  attention.  She  knew  they  were 
speaking  of  the  burglary  at  Mrs.  Ellsworth's  house. 
She  heard  Ruthven  Smith  go  on  to  explain  in  his 
high-pitched  voice  that  the  two  woman  servants  had 
been  suspected,  but  that  their  characters  had 
"emerged  stainless"  from  the  examination. 

"Besides,"  he  continued,  "neither  of  them  had  a 
latchkey  to  give  to  any  outside  person.  The  two 
women  slept  together  in  one  room.  At  the  time  of 
the  robbery  there  was  no  butler " 

Annesley  heard  no  more.  Suddenly  the  door  of 
her  spirit  seemed  to  close.  She  was  shut  up  within 
herself,  listening  to  some  voice  there. 

"  What  became  of  your  latchkey?  "  it  asked. 

The  blood  streamed  to  her  face  and  made  her  ears 
tingle,  as  it  used  to  do  when  she  had  been  scolded  by 
Mrs.  Ellsworth.  If  any  one  had  looked  at  her  then,  it 
must  have  been  to  wonder  what  Sir  Elmer  Cart- 
wright  or  Lord  John  Dormer  had  said  to  make  Mrs. 
Nelson  Smith  blush  so  furiously. 


WHY  RUTHVEN  SMITH  WENT       213 

She  was  remembering  what  she  had  done  with  her 
latchkey.  She  had  given  it  to  Knight  to  open  the 
front  door,  and  so  escape  from  the  two  watchers  who 
had  followed  them  in  a  taxi  to  Torrington  Square. 
She  had  never  thought  of  it  from  that  moment  to 
this.  Could  it  be  possible  that  some  thief  had 
stolen  the  latchkey  from  Knight,  and  used  it  when 
Mrs.  Ellsworth's  house  was  robbed? 

Her  thoughts  concentrated  violently  upon  the  key. 
Had  her  neighbours  spoken  she  would  not  have 
heard;  but  they  did  not  speak.  She  was  free  to  let 
her  thoughts  run  where  they  chose.  They  ran  back 
to  the  first  night  of  her  meeting  with  Nelson  Smith, 
and  her  arrival  with  him  at  the  house  in  Torrington 
Square.  She  recalled,  as  if  it  were  a  moment  ago, 
putting  the  key  into  his  hand,  which  had  been  warm 
and  steady,  despite  the  danger  he  was  in,  while  hers 
had  been  trembling  and  cold.  She  said  to  herself 
that  she  must  ask  Knight,  as  soon  as  they  were  alone 
together,  what  he  had  done  with  the  key,  whether  he 
had  left  it  in  the  house  or  flung  it  away. 

But  of  course  he  must  have  left  it  in  the  house,  or 
close  by,  otherwise  no  thief  would  have  known  where 
it  belonged.  That  made  her  feel  guilty  toward 
Ruthven  Smith.  She  ought  not  to  have  been  so 
utterly  absorbed  in  her  own  affairs  that  night.  She 
ought  to  have  asked  to  have  the  key  back,  and  then 
to  have  laid  it  where  it  could  be  found  by  Mrs.  Ells- 
worth in  the  morning. 

Perhaps,  indirectly,  she  was  responsible  for  the 
burglary  at  that  house.  And,  now  she  thought  of  it, 


THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

what  a  queer  burglary  it  had  been!  The  thieves 
must  certainly  have  known  something  about  Mrs. 
Ellsworth,  or  else,  in  helping  themselves  to  her  valu- 
ables, it  would  not  have  occurred  to  them  to  scrawl  a 
sarcastic  message. 

That  message  had  delighted  Knight  when  he  heard 
of  it.  He  had  laughed  and  said,  "I  like  those  chaps! 
They  can  have  my  money  when  they  want  it ! " 

Since  then  they  had  had  his  money,  and  other 
possessions.  If  the  theory  of  the  police  were  right, 
that  a  gang  of  foreign  thieves  was  "working" 
London,  Annesley  was  glad  that  she  and  Knight  had 
been  robbed.  It  made  her  feel  less  to  blame  for  her 
carelessness  in  the  matter  of  that  latchkey. 

At  least,  she  had  suffered,  too,  and  so  had  Knight. 

Could  it  be,  she  asked  herself,  that  the  watchers 
were  somehow  mixed  up  in  the  business?  Were 
they  members  of  the  supposed  gang?  That  did  not 
seem  likely,  for  how  could  a  man  like  Knight  have 
got  involved  with  thieves?  Yet  it  seemed,  from  what 
he  had  said  that  night  at  the  Savoy — and  never  re- 
ferred to  again — as  if  he  were  somehow  in  their  power. 

How  curiously  like  one  of  them  Morello  had  been ! 
She  remembered  thinking  so,  with  a  shock  of  fear. 
Then  she  had  lost  the  feeling  of  resemblance,  and  told 
herself  that  she  must  have  imagined  it. 

The  two  faces  came  back  to  her  now,  and  again  she 
saw  them  alike.  She  was  glad  that  Knight  had 
never  invited  Morello  to  call,  and  glad  that  when 
grudgingly  she  had  asked  one  day  after  the  two  men 
who  had  witnessed  their  marriage,  Knight  had  said, 


WHY  RUTHVEN  SMITH  WENT       215 

"Gone  out  of  England.  We  just  caught  them  in 
time." 

As  for  the  watchers,  she  had  heard  no  more  of  them. 
Knight  ignored  the  episode,  or  the  part  of  it  connected 
with  those  men.  The  memory  of  them  was  shut  up 
in  the  locked  box  of  his  past,  and  he  never  left  the  key 
lying  about,  as  apparently  he  had  left  the  key  of 
Mrs.  Ellsworth's  house. 

Suddenly,  while  Annesley  listened  to  Ruthven 
Smith,  she  became  conscious  that,  as  he  talked  to 
Lady  Cartwright,  his  eyes  had  turned  to  her. 

"This  proves,"  the  fancy  ran  through  her  head, 
"that  if  you  look  at  or  even  think  of  people,  you 
attract  their  attention." 

She  glanced  away,  and  at  her  neighbours.  They 
were  both  absorbed  for  the  moment;  she  need  not 
worry  lest  they  should  find  her  neglectful.  She  took 
some  asparagus  which  was  offered  to  her,  and  began 
to  eat  it;  but  she  still  had  the  impression  that  Ruth- 
ven Smith  was  looking  at  her.  She  wondered  why. 

"He  can't  be  expecting  me  to  scream  at  him  across 
the  table,"  she  thought. 

"Yes,"  he  was  saying  to  Lady  Cartwright,  "it  was 
a  misfortune  to  lose  those  pearls.  Two  I  had  selected 
to  make  a  pair  of  earrings  can  scarcely  be  duplicated. 
But  none  of  the  things  stolen  from  me  compared  hi 
value  to  those  our  agent  lost  on  board  the  Monarchic. 
I  suppose  you  read  of  that  affair?  " 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Lady  Cartwright,  her  voice  raised 
in  deference  to  her  neighbour's  deafness.  "It  was 
most  interesting.  Especially  about  the  clairvoyant 


216  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

woman  on  board  who  saw  a  vision  of  the  thief  in 
her  crystal,  throwing  things  into  the  sea  attached  to  a 
life-belt  with  a  light  on  it,  or  something  of  the  sort,  to 
be  picked  up  by  a  yacht.  One  would  have  supposed, 
with  that  information  to  go  upon,  the  police  might 
have  recovered  the  jewels,  but  they  didn't,  and 
probably  they  never  will  now." 

"I'm  not  sure  the  police  pinned  their  faith  to  the 
clairvoy ante's  visions,"  replied  Ruthven  Smith,  with 
his  dry  chuckle. 

"Really?  But  I've  understood — though  the  name 
wasn't  mentioned  then,  I  believe — that  the  woman 
was  that  wonderful  Countess  de  Santiago  we're  so 
excited  about.  She  is  certainly  extraordinary.  No- 
body seems  to  doubt  her  powers!  I  rather  thought 
she  might  be  here." 

Ruthven  Smith  showed  no  interest  in  the  Countess 
de  Santiago.  Once  on  the  subject  of  jewels,  it  was 
difficult  to  shunt  him  off  on  another  at  short  notice. 
Or  possibly  he  had  something  to  say  which  he 
particularly  wished  not  to  leave  unsaid  at  that  stage 
of  the  conversation. 

"The  newspapers  did  not  publish  a  description  of 
the  jewels  stolen  on  the  Monarchic"  he  went  on, 
brushing  the  Countess  de  Santiago  aside.  "It  was 
thought  best  at  the  tune  not  to  give  the  reporters  a 
list.  To  me,  that  seemed  a  mistake.  Who  knows, 
for  instance,  through  how  many  hands  the  Malin- 
dore  diamond  may  have  passed?  If  some  honest  per- 
son, recognizing  it  from  a  description  in  the  papers, 
for  instance " 


WHY  RUTHVEN  SMITH  WENT       217 

"The  Malindore  diamond!"  exclaimed  Lady  Cart- 
wright,  forgetting  politeness  in  her  interest,  and 
cutting  short  a  sentence  which  began  dully.  "Isn't 
that  the  wonderful  blue  diamond  that  the  British 
Museum  refused  to  buy  three  years  ago,  because  it 
hadn't  enough  money  to  spend,  or  something?" 

"Quite  so,"  replied  Ruthven  Smith,  adding  with 
pride:  "But  the  Van  Vrecks  had  enough  money. 
They  always  have  when  a  unique  thing  is  for  sale; 
and  they  are  rich  enough  to  wait  for  years,  with  their 
money  locked  up,  till  somebody  comes  along  who 
wants  the  thing.  That  happened  in  the  case  of  the 
Malindore  diamond.  The  Van  Vrecks  hoped  to  sell 
it  to  Mr.  Pierpont  Morgan.  But  he  died,  and  it  was 
left  on  their  hands  till  this  last  autumn." 

"Ah,  then  that  lovely  blue  diamond  was  sold  with 
the  other  things  the  Van  Vreck  agent  lost  on  the 
Monarchic?" 

"Was  to  be  sold  if  the  prospective  buyer  liked  it. 
He  had  married  a  white  wife,  you  know,  and " 

"Oh,  yes,  of  course.  It  was  Lady  Eve  Cassenden. 
That  marriage  made  a  big  sensation  among  us. 
Horrid,  I  call  it!  But  she  hadn't  a  penny,  and  they 
say  he's  the  richest  Maharajah  in  India." 

"The  Malindore  diamond  was  once  in  his  family, 
I  understand,  about  five  hundred  years  ago,  when  we 
first  begin  to  get  at  its  history,"  Ruthven  Smith  went 
on,  ignoring  the  Maharajah  as  he  had  ignored  the 
Countess  de  Santiago.  "It  was  then  the  central  jewel 
of  a  crown.  But  later,  Louis  XIV,  on  obtaining  pos- 
session of  it,  had  it  set  in  a  ring,  and  surrounded  with 


218  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

small  white  brilliants.  It  still  remains  in  that  form, 
or  did  so  remain  until  it  was  stolen  from  our  agent 
on  the  Monarchic.  What  form  it  is  in  and  where  it 
is  now,  only  those  who  know  can  say." 

So  strong  was  the  call  from  Ruthven  Smith's  eyes 
to  Annesley's  eyes  that  she  was  forced  to  look  up. 
She  had  been  sure  that  she  would  meet  his  gaze  fixed 
upon  her,  and  so  it  was.  He  was  staring  across  the 
table  at  her,  with  a  curious  expression  on  his  long, 
hatchet  face. 


CHAPTER  XVII 
RUTHVEN  SMITH'S  EYEGLASSES 

ANNESLEY  could  not  read  the  look.  Yet  she  felt 
that  it  might  be  read,  if  her  soul  and  body  had  not 
been  wrenched  apart,  and  hastily  flung  together 
again,  upside  down,  it  seemed,  with  her  brain  where 
her  heart  had  been,  and  vice  versa. 

Why  had  Ruthven  Smith  looked  at  her,  as  he 
spoke  in  his  loud  voice  of  the  stolen  Malindore  dia- 
mond— a  blue  diamond  set  with  small  brilliants,  hi  a 
ring?  Had  he  found  out  that  she — did  he  believe — 
but  she  could  not  finish  the  thought.  It  seemed  as 
though  the  ring  Knight  had  given  her — and  told  her  to 
hide — was  burning  her  flesh! 

Could  her  blue  diamond  be  the  famous  diamond, 
about  which  the  jewel  expert  was  telling  Lady  Cart- 
wright?  A  horrible  sensation  overcame  the  girl. 
She  felt  her  blood  growing  cold,  and  oozing  so  slug- 
gishly through  her  veins  that  she  could  count  the 
drops — drip,  drip,  drip !  She  hoped  that  she  had  not 
turned  ghastly  pale.  Above  all  things  she  hoped  that 
she  was  not  going  to  faint !  If  she  did  that,  Ruthven 
Smith  would  think — what  would  he  not  think? 

She  found  herself  praying  for  strength  and  the 
power  of  self-control  that  she  might  reason  with  her 

219 


220  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

own  intelligence.  Of  course,  if  this  were  the  dia- 
mond, Knight  didn't  dream  that  it  had  been  stolen. 

Just  then  a  hand  reached  out  at  her  left  side  and 
poured  champagne  into  her  glass.  It  was  the  hand 
of  Charrington,  the  butler.  Annesley  saw  that  it 
was  trembling.  She  had  never  seen  Charrington's 
hand  tremble  before.  Butlers'  hands  were  not 
supposed  to  tremble.  Charrington  spilled  a  little 
champagne  on  the  tablecloth,  only  a  very  little, 
no  more  than  a  drop  or  two,  yet  Annesley  started  and 
glanced  up.  The  butler  was  moving  away  when  she 
caught  a  glimpse  of  his  face. 

It  was  red,  as  usual,  for  his  complexion  and  that  of 
his  younger  brother  were  alike  in  colouring;  but  there 
was  a  look  of  strain  on  his  features,  as  if  he  were  keep- 
ing his  muscles  taut. 

Sir  Elmer  Cartwright  began  to  talk  to  her.  His 
voice  buzzed  unmeaningly  in  her  ears,  as  though  she 
were  coming  out  from  under  the  influence  of  chloro- 
form. 

"What  will  become  of  me?  "  she  said  to  herself,  and 
then  was  afraid  she  had  said  it  aloud.  How  awful 
that  would  be!  Her  eyes  turned  imploringly  to  Sir 
Elmer.  He  was  smiling,  unaware  of  anything  un- 
usual. 

"  Oh,  yes ! "  she  exclaimed  at  random.  Fortunately 
it  seemed  to  be  the  right  answer;  and  the  relief  this 
assurance  gave  was  like  a  helping  hand  to  a  beginner 
skating  on  thin  ice.  Sir  Elmer  went  on  to  repeat 
some  story  which  he  said  he  had  been  telling  the 
Duchess. 


RUTHVEN  SMITH'S  EYEGLASSES     221 

Annesley  suddenly  thought  of  a  woman  rider  she 
had  seen  at  a  circus  when  she  was  a  child.  The 
woman  stood  on  the  bare  back  of  one  horse  and  drove 
six  others,  three  abreast,  all  going  very  fast  and 
noiselessly  round  a  ring. 

"I  must  drive  my  thoughts  as  she  did  the  horses/* 
came  flashing  into  the  girl's  head.  "I  must  think 
this  out,  and  I  must  listen  to  Sir  Elmer  and  go  on 
giving  him  right  answers,  and  I  must  look  just  as 
usual.  7  must  ! 

"For  Knight's  sake!"  She  seemed  to  hear  the 
words  whispered.  Why  for  Knight's  sake?  Oh,  but 
of  course  she  must  try  to  think  how  it  would  involve 
him  if  the  blue  diamond  was  the  famous  one  stolen 
from  the  Van  Vrecks*  agent  on  the  Monarchic! 

He  would  not  be  to  blame,  for  if  he  had  known,  he 
would  not  have  bought  the  diamond. 

And  yet,  might  he  not  have  known?  He  had  told 
her  few  details  of  his  life  before  they  met,  but  he  had 
said  that  it  had  been  hard  sometimes,  that  he  had 
travelled  among  rough  people,  and  picked  up  some 
of  their  rough  ways.  He  had  confessed  frankly  that 
his  ideas  of  right  and  wrong  had  got  mixed  and 
blunted.  From  the  first  he  had  never  let  her  call  him 
good. 

Would  it  seem  dreadful  to  him  to  buy  a  jewel  which 
he  might  guess,  from  its  low  cost,  had  to  be  got  rid  of 
at  almost  any  price? 

Annesley  was  forced  to  admit,  much  as  she  loved 
Knight,  that  his  daring,  original  nature  (so  she  called 
it  to  herself)  might  enter  into  strange  adventures  and 


THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

intrigues  for  sheer  joy  in  taking  risks.  She  imagined 
that  some  wild  escapade  regretted  too  late  might  have 
led  him  into  association  with  the  watchers.  Maybe 
they  had  all  three  been  members  of  a  secret  society, 
she  often  told  herself,  and  Knight  had  left  against  the 
others'  will,  in  spite  of  threats. 

That  would  be  like  him;  and  brave  and  splendid  as 
was  his  image  in  her  heart,  she  could  not  say  that  he 
would  never  be  guilty  of  an  act  which  might  be 
classed  as  unscrupulous. 

This  admission,  instead  of  distressing,  calmed  her. 
Allowing  that  he  had  certain  faults  seemed  to  chase 
away  a  dreadful  thought  which  had  pressed  near,  out 
of  sight,  yet  close  as  if  it  stood  behind  her  chair,  lean- 
ing over  her  shoulder. 

For  a  moment  she  felt  happy  again.  She  would 
tell  Knight  what  she  had  heard  about  the  Malindore 
diamond,  and  how  like  its  description  was  to  hers. 
Then,  no  matter  how  much  he  might  hate  to  let  it  go, 
he  must  show  the  blue  diamond  ring  to  Mr.  Ruthven 
Smith  and  have  its  identity  decided. 

The  girl  drew  a  long  breath,  and  determined  to  put 
the  subject  out  of  her  mind  until  after  dinner,  so  that 
Sir  Elmer  Cartwright  need  not  think  her  a  complete 
idiot. 

But  the  deep  sigh  that  stirred  her  bosom  stirred 
also  the  fine  gold  chain  on  which  hung  the  blue  dia- 
mond. The  chain  lay  loosely  on  her  shoulders,  lost, 
or  almost  lost  among  soft  folds  of  lace.  She  wore  it 
like  that  with  a  low  dress,  not  only  to  prevent  it  from 
attracting  attention  and  making  people  wonder  what 


RUTHVEN  SMITH'S  EYEGLASSES     223 

ornament  she  hid,  but  also  because  the  thin  band  of 
gold,  if  seen,  would  break  the  symmetry  of  line.  It 
was  Knight  who  had  given  her  this  little  piece  of  ad- 
vice, the  first  time  after  their  marriage  that  she  had 
dined  with  him  in  evening  dress,  and  since  then  she 
had  never  forgotten  to  follow  it. 

To-night,  however,  feeling  suddenly  conscious  of 
the  chain,  she  was  on  the  point  of  looking  down  to 
make  sure  that  it  was  shrouded  in  her  laces.  Some- 
thing stopped  her.  With  a  quick  warning  thump  of 
the  heart  she  glanced  across  at  Ruthven  Smith. 

A  few  minutes  ago  he  had  not  been  wearing  his 
eyeglasses.  Now  they  were  on,  pinching  the  high- 
bridged,  thin  nose.  And  he  was  peering  through 
them  at  her — peering  at  her  neck,  her  dress,  as  if  he 
searched  for  something. 

Ruthven  Smith  knew  about  the  blue  diamond.  He 
knew  that  she  wore  it  on  a  chain,  hidden  in  her  dress. 
The  certainty  of  this  shot  through  brain  and  body 
like  forked  lightning  and  seemed  to  sear  her  flesh. 
She  was  afraid.  She  could  not  tell  yet  of  what  she 
was  afraid,  but  when  she  could  disentangle  her 
twisted  thoughts  one  from  another  the  reason  would 
be  clear. 

Then  it  was  as  if  her  mind  separated  itself  from  the 
rest  of  her  and  began  to  run  back  along  the  path  she 
had  travelled  with  Knight  since  the  hour  of  their 
first  meeting.  It  ran  looking  on  the  ground,  seeking 
and  picking  up  things  dropped  and  almost  forgotten. 

Knight  had  not  been  pleased  when  the  Countess  de 
Santiago  talked  to  him  of  their  being  together  on  the 


224  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

Monarchic.  The  Countess  had  seemed  wishful  to 
annoy  him  in  some  way.  She  had  taken  that  way. 
They  had  known  each  other  well  and  for  a  long  time. 
They  knew  a  good  deal  about  each  other's  affairs. 
Sometimes  one  would  say  that  the  Countess  still 
liked  to  annoy  Knight,  and  he  resented  that.  He 
had  been  unwilling  to  have  her  asked  to  Valley  House 
for  Easter,  though  he  knew  she  longed  to  come. 

And  Ruthven  Smith!  Knight  had  not  wanted 
him.  Could  it  possibly  be  on  account  of  the  blue 
diamond?  Had  Knight  heard  what  she  had  heard 
there  at  the  dinner-table,  and  was  he  anxious  about 
what  might  happen  next? 

Hastily  she  flung  a  glance  toward  her  husband. 
He  was  not  looking  at  her,  but  it  seemed — perhaps 
she  imagined  it — that  his  face  had  something  of  the 
same  tense,  strained  expression  she  had  caught  on 
Charrington's. 

How  odd,  if  it  were  true,  that  both  should  have 
that  look.  One  would  almost  fancy  they  shared  a 
secret  trouble.  But  Annesley  shook  the  idea  away, 
as  she  would  have  shaken  a  hornet  trying  to  sting. 
How  dare  she  let  such  a  disloyal  fancy  even  cross  the 
threshold  of  her  mind  ?  A  secret  between  her  husband 
and  his  servant — a  secret  concerning  the  blue  dia- 
mond, which  stabbed  them  both  with  the  same  prick 
of  anxiety  at  the  mention  of  the  jewel! 

No  sooner  was  the  venomous  thing  dislodged  than 
it  crept  back  and  settled  close  over  her  heart.  For 
Knight's  eyes  turned  to  her,  and  in  them  was  the  look 
of  a  drowning  man. 


RUTHVEN  SMITH'S  EYEGLASSES     225 

Just  for  the  fraction  of  a  second  she  saw  it.  Then 
the  curtain  was  drawn  over  his  real  self  that  had  come 
to  the  window  and  signalled  for  help.  He  smiled  a 
friendly  smile,  and  took  up  the  conversation  with  his 
right-hand  neighbour.  But  he  had  hidden  his  soul 
too  late.  The  message  could  not  be  taken  back,  and 
Annesley  was  sure  that  he,  too,  had  heard  the  story 
Ruthven  Smith  had  told  so  loudly  to  Lady  Cart- 
wright. 

The  fact  that  he  had  lost  his  unruffled,  nonchalant 
coolness  even  for  a  single  instant  warned  Annesley 
that  Knight  must  be  desperately  troubled. 

"  He  bought  the  diamond  for  me,  knowing  what  it 
was,"  she  told  herself,  "and  knowing  that  it  must 
have  been  stolen.  Of  course  that's  why  he  made  me 
wear  it  where  nobody  could  see.  But  who  else  knew 
besides  the  man  who  sold  it  to  Knight?  Somebody 
must  have  known,  and  told  Mr.  Ruthven  Smith. 
Perhaps  the  thief  himself,  hoping  to  be  spared,  and  to 
get  money  from  both  sides.  That  is  why  Mr.  Ruth- 
ven Smith  accepted  the  invitation  here,  which  I  was 
so  sure  he  would  refuse.  He  has  come  because  he 
thinks  the  Malindore  diamond  is  in  this  house.  That 
must  be  it!  But  how  can  he  have  found  out  that  I 
am  wearing  it?" 

As  she  thought  these  things,  asking  herself  ques- 
tions, sometimes  answering  them,  sometimes  unable 
to  answer,  she  managed  to  keep  up  some  desultory 
talk  first  with  one  of  her  neighbours,  then  with 
the  other.  It  seemed  to  take  all  her  strength  to 
do  this,  and  made  her  feel  weak  and  broken,  not 


226  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

excited  and  vital,  as  she  had  felt  on  the  wonderful 
night  at  the  Savoy  when  "Nelson  Smith"  had 
praised  her  pluck  and  presence  of  mind  hi  saving 
him  from  a  danger  which  had  never  been  explained. 

How  she  wished  with  all  her  anxious,  troubled 
heart  that  she  knew  how  to  save  him  to-night! 

It  had  been  very  wrong  to  buy  a  stolen  diamond, 
but  he  had  done  it  from  no  mercenary  motives,  for  he 
had  given  it  to  her.  She  supposed  that  he  had  loved 
the  beautiful  thing,  and  felt  when  it  was  offered  to 
him  that  he  could  not  bear  to  let  it  go.  .  .  .  Per- 
haps the  Countess  de  Santiago  had  stolen  it  on  the 
Monarchic  /  That  might  be  a  cruel  thought,  but 
Annesley  could  not  help  having  it,  for  it  would  explain 
many  things. 

Besides,  it  would  help  to  exonerate  Knight.  He 
was  very  chivalrous  where  women  were  concerned, 
and  he  would  have  felt  bound  to  protect  his  old 
friend.  At  all  events,  he  could  not  have  given  her 
up  to  justice,  and  very  likely  she  had  been  in  debt  and 
needed  money.  She  had  wonderful  clothes,  and 
must  be  extravagant. 

Yes,  the  more  Annesley  dwelt  on  the  idea  the  more 
convinced  she  became  that  Madalena  de  Santiago 
had  stolen  the  blue  diamond,  and  perhaps  all  the 
other  things  on  the  Monarchic,  while  pretending  to 
have  a  vision  in  her  crystal  of  the  thief,  and  of  the  way 
the  jewel  had  been  smuggled  off  the  ship.  Then  the 
Countess  had  been  angry  with  Knight,  and  had  tried 
to  have  him  suspected,  even  of  being  mixed  up  in  the 
theft — though  that  last  idea  seemed  too  far-fetched. 


RUTHVEN  SMITH'S  EYEGLASSES     227 

"How  hateful,  how  mean  of  her!"  Annesley 
thought,  ashamed  because  it  was  so  easy  to  believe 
bad  things  of  the  Countess,  and  to  pile  up  one  upon 
another.  "Probably  she  put  it  into  Constance's 
head  to  suggest  having  Mr.  Ruthven  Smith  asked. 
And  then  she  put  it  into  his  head  to — to " 

The  girl  stopped  short,  appalled.  What  had  been 
put  into  the  jewel  expert's  head?  What  precisely 
had  he  come  to  Valley  House  to  do? 

"He  has  come  to  find  the  blue  diamond!"  the 
answer  flashed  into  her  brain. 

Madalena  de  Santiago's  eyes  were  as  piercing  as 
they  were  beautiful.  She  might  have  noticed  the 
fine  gold  chain  which  her  "pal's"  wife  wore  always 
round  her  neck.  She  might  have  guessed  that  the 
ring  with  the  blue  diamond  was  hidden  at  the  end  of 
the  chain;  yet  she  could  not  know  for  certainy  be- 
cause Knight  would  never  have  told  her  that. 

Therefore  it  followed  that  neither  could  Ruthven 
Smith  know  for  certain.  He  meant  to  find  out,  and 
if  he  did  find  out,  Knight  would  be  punished  far  more 
severely  than  he  deserved  for  buying  a  thing  illegally 
come  by. 

"I  will  save  him  again,"  Annesley  resolved. 

But  how?  What  might  she  expect  to  happen? 
And  whatever  it  was,  how  could  she  prevent  it 
happening? 


CHAPTER  XVIII 
THE  STAR  SAPPHIRE 

PICTURE  after  picture  grew  and  faded  in  her 
mind.  She  saw  policemen  coming  to  the  house; 
she  saw  Ruthven  Smith  demanding  that  she  and 
Knight  be  searched,  and  arrested  if  the  diamond 
were  found. 

It  might  be  difficult  to  prove  that  they  had  had 
nothing  to  do  with  the  theft,  especially  as  Knight  had 
been  on  board  the  Monarchic.  He  must  have  trav- 
elled under  his  own  name  then,  the  name  that  he  had 
not  let  her  see  when  he  wrote  it  in  the  register  after 
the  wedding.  If  Ruthven  Smith  knew  about  the 
Monarchic  and  the  change  of  name,  he  might  make 
things  very  unpleasant  for  Knight.  And  what  must 
he  himself  be  thinking  at  this  moment  as  he  peered 
through  his  eyeglasses? 

Annesley  had  always  told  herself  that  Ruthven 
Smith  looked  like  a  schoolmaster.  He  looked  more 
than  ever  like  one  to-night — a  very  severe  school- 
master, planning  to  punish  a  rebellious  pupil. 

"But  he  can't  have  accepted  our  invitation,  and 
have  come  to  this  house  to  make  a  scene  and  a  scandal 
before  everybody,"  she  tried  to  reassure  her  troubled 
heart.  "  Still,  he  wouldn't  look  like  that  if  he  didn't 

228 


THE  STAR  SAPPHIRE  229 

believe  that  I'm  wearing  the  diamond,  and  if  he  did 
not  mean  to  do  something  about  it." 

It  was  a  terrifying  prospect  for  Annesley,  and 
suddenly,  with  a  shock  of  certainty,  she  told  herself 
that  Ruthven  Smith  would  not  give  her  time,  if  he 
could  help  it,  to  get  rid  of  the  ring  and  conceal  it 
somewhere  else.  "He'll  think  of  an  excuse  after 
dinner  to  make  me  show  what  I  have  on  my  chain,  or 
perhaps  he  has  thought  of  the  excuse  already!" 

It  seemed  to  the  girl  that  the  room  had  become 
bitterly  cold.  She  shivered  slightly.  "I  must  take 
off  the  ring  and  put  something  else  on  the  chain  when 
we  go  away  and  leave  the  men,"  she  decided. 

But  no!  Even  then  it  might  be  too  late.  Ruth- 
ven Smith  neither  smoked  nor  drank.  Very  likely 
he  would  follow  the  ladies  to  the  drawing  room  with- 
out giving  her  the  chance  of  cheating  him.  If  she 
were  to  save  Knight  from  trouble  she  must  do  the 
thing  she  had  to  do  at  once. 

That  thing  was  to  unfasten  the  clasp  of  the  chain, 
slip  off  the  ring  with  the  blue  diamond,  substitute 
another  ring,  fasten  the  chain  again  and  replace  it 
inside  her  dress,  all  without  letting  Ruthven  Smith 
across  the  table,  or  her  neighbours,  suspect  what  was 
being  done. 

Her  plate  was  whisked  away  at  that  moment,  and 
leaning  back  in  her  chair  she  seized  the  opportunity 
of  looking  at  her  hands.  Brain  and  heart  were 
throbbing  so  fast  that  she  could  not  remember,  with- 
out counting,  what  rings  she  had  put  on. 

Knight  had  tried  to  console  her  for  the  loss  she'd 


230  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

suffered  through  the  burglary  a  fortnight  before  by 
making  her  a  present  of  half  a  dozen  new  rings.  Poor 
Knight!  How  anxious  he  always  was  to  give  her 
pleasure,  no  matter  at  what  expense!  He  had  such 
good  taste  in  choosing  jewellery,  too,  that  one  might  al- 
most fancy  him  as  great  an  expert  as  Ruthven  Smith. 

But  he  had  laughed  when  she  said  this  to  him,  pro- 
testing that  he  was  a  "rank  amateur." 

The  new  rings  were  all  beautiful,  each  unique  in 
its  way.  The  big  white  diamond  of  her  engagement 
ring  was  the  least  original  of  her  possessions.  To- 
night, in  addition  to  that  and  her  wedding  ring,  she 
wore  on  her  left  hand  a  grayish  star  sapphire,  of  oval 
shape,  curiously  set  with  four  small  diamonds,  white 
ones  at  top  and  bottom,  pale  pink  and  yellow  at  the 
sides.  This  ring  was  rather  large  for  her,  and  as  she 
wore  it  above  the  engagement  ring,  the  stones  easily 
slipped  round  toward  the  palm. 

The  dark  blue  scarab  on  her  right  hand  Ruthven 
might  have  observed;  but  she  was  hopeful  that  the 
star  sapphire  had  escaped  his  notice. 

She  took  it  off  and  laid  it  in  her  lap,  ready. 

Her  dress  of  white  charmeuse,  embroidered  with  vio- 
lets, was  fastened  in  front  under  a  folded  and  crossed 
fichu  of  "shadow"  lace  and  a  bunch  of  real  violets 
held  on  by  an  old-fashioned  brooch.  Bending  for- 
ward, she  played  at  eating  Punch  a  la  Romaine,  while 
with  her  left  hand  she  contrived  to  undo  three  or 
four  hooks  from  their  delicately  worked  eyelets. 
Then,  slipping  two  fingers  into  the  aperture,  she  tore 
open  her  lace  underbodice. 


THE  STAR  SAPPHIRE  231 

This  accomplished,  she  felt  the  ring  of  the  blue 
diamond;  but  she  dared  not  break  the  chain,  as  she 
could  easily  have  done.  If  Ruthven  Smith  were 
planning  some  trick  by  which  to  obtain  a  glimpse  of 
ring  and  chain,  the  latter  must  be  intact. 

Pinching  the  chain  between  thumb  and  finger 
patiently,  persistently,  and  very  cautiously,  she 
pulled  it  along  until  she  touched  the  tiny  clasp.  As 
she  did  this  she  glanced  down  at  the  lace  of  her  fichu 
now  and  then  to  make  sure  that  she  did  not  draw  the 
thin  line  of  gold  so  tightly  across  her  neck  that  it 
became  visible  in  moving. 

At  last  she  had  the  clasp  in  her  hand.  Pressed 
upon  sharply,  it  opened,  and  the  ring  with  the  blue 
diamond  fell  into  her  palm.  She  pushed  it  inside  her 
frock  as  far  down  as  her  fingers  would  reach  and  slid 
the  star  sapphire  ring  on  to  the  chain  before  fastening 
the  clasp  again. 

She  was  shivering  still  as  if  with  cold,  and  her 
hands  trembled  so  that  she  could  hardly  put  the 
hooks  of  her  dress  into  their  eyelets.  But  some- 
how she  did  at  last,  and  was  sure  that  no  one  had 
seen. 

More  than  one  course  had  come  and  gone  before 
her  stealthy  task  was  finished,  and  three  or  four 
minutes  after  the  last  hook  had  decided  to  bite, 
Constance  looked  at  the  Duchess  of  Peebles.  Every- 
one rose,  and,  as  Annesley  had  feared,  Ruthven 
Smith  followed  the  ladies  out  of  the  great  dining 
hall. 

Constance  led  them  to  the  Chinese  drawing  room 


THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

for  coffee,  and  as  the  women  grouped  themselves  to 
chat,  or  gaze  at  Buddhas  and  treasures  of  ancient 
dynasties,  she  suddenly  recalled  Madalena's  latest 
vision  in  the  crystal. 

It  seemed  that  it  would  interest  rather  than 
frighten  her  friends  to  hear  of  it.  Besides,  if  it  did 
frighten  them  a  little,  she  didn't  much  mind.  She 
bore  the  Duchess  of  Peebles  and  several  others  a 
grudge  because  they  had  come  to  Valley  House  not 
on  her  account,  or  Dick's,  but  because  it  was  an  open 
secret  who  were  the  real  host  and  hostess  on  this 
occasion.  Last  year,  if  she  had  invited  these  people, 
they  would  have  been  "dreadfully  sorry  they  were 
already  promised  for  Easter." 

It  was  Nelson  Smith's  money  and  popularity  which 
Aad  lured  them.  They  knew  they  would  have 
wonderful  things  to  eat,  and  probably  the  women 
were  counting  on  presents  of  Easter  eggs  in  the 
morning  with  exciting  surprises  inside! 

"Are  you  all  very  brave?"  she  asked  aloud  and 
gaily.  "Because  I've  just  remembered  that  the 
Countess  de  Santiago  saw  a  picture  of  us  in  her 
crystal,  grouped  together  as  we  are  now,  in  this  very 
room,  and — something  happening." 

"Something  nice,  or  horrid?"  asked  the  Duchess,  a 
tall,  pretty  woman,  who  looked  as  if  Rossetti  had 
created  her,  with  finishing  touches  by  Burne- Jones. 

"Ah,  she  couldn't  see.  The  vision  faded,"  Con- 
stance replied.  "But  perhaps  we  shall  see — if  this 
is  to  be  the  night." 

As  she  spoke  the  men  came  into  the  room.     Ruth- 


THE  STAR  SAPPHIRE  233 

ven  Smith's  example'  was  contagious.  They  had 
been  deserted  by  the  ladies  hardly  ten  minutes  ago. 
Annesley  felt  sure  that  Knight  had  contrived  to 
hurry  the  others.  He,  too,  then,  had  guessed  why 
Ruthven  Smith  had  gone  out  of  the  dining  hall  with 
the  women.  Perhaps  he  also  had  a  plan! 

He  came  straight  to  his  wife,  who  was  standing 
with  Lady  Cartwright.  Not  far  off  was  Ruthven 
Smith,  still  with  his  eyeglasses  on.  He  was  hovering 
with  a  nervous  air  in  front  of  a  cabinet  full  of  beauti- 
ful things,  at  which  he  scarcely  glanced. 

Seeing  Knight  approach  Annesley,  he  lifted  his 
head,  took  a  hesitating  step  in  her  direction,  and 
stopped.  He  looked  timid  and  miserable,  yet  ob- 
stinate. 

"Anita,  I've  been  telling  the  Duke  about  that  star 
sapphire  I  picked  up  for  you  the  other  day,"  Knight 
began.  "He  says  he  never  saw  one  with  anything 
resembling  a  star  in  it.  Will  you  fetch  it  for  him  to 
look  at?  I  noticed  as  you  got  up  from  the  table  that 
you  hadn't  put  it  on  to-night." 

For  an  instant  the  girl  could  not  answer.  If  only 
he  had  hit  upon  something  else.  If  only  it  had 
occurred  to  her  to  hide  her  left  hand  after  taking  off 
the  ring!  But  she  could  not  have  foreseen  this. 

For  the  first  time  she  inclined  to  believe  in  the 
Countess  de  Santiago's  supernatural  power.  Could 
it  be  that  this  scene  had  pictured  itself  in  the  crystal? 
Could  it  be  that  now  in  a  moment  something  dread- 
ful would  happen? 

She  realized  that  Knight  was  trusting  to  the  quick- 


234  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

ness  of  her  wits;  that  not  only  had  he  overheard 
Ruthven  Smith's  talk  about  the  Malindore  diamond, 
but  he  credited  her  with  having  caught  the  drift  of 
the  words,  and  counted  on  her  loyalty  to  help  him. 
As  he  spoke  he  looked  at  her  with  the  wistful,  seeking 
look  she  had  seen  in  his  eyes  when  they  were  first 
married. 

"He's  afraid  I'm  angry  with  him  for  buying 
the  diamond  in  spite  of  knowing  what  it  was," 
she  thought,  "but  he  trusts  me  to  stand  by  him 
now." 

Her  mind  grew  clear.  After  a  pause  no  longer 
than  the  drawing  of  a  breath  she  was  ready  to  rise 
to  the  situation  Knight  had  created.  In  fact,  she 
saw  safety  for  him  and  herself,  as  well  as  a  realistic 
surprise  for  Ruthven  Smith.  But  the  latter,  ren- 
dered brave  to  act  through  fear  of  loss,  was  too  quick 
for  her. 

"I  beg  your  pardon!  Before  you  go,  may  I  have 
the  pleasure  of  a  nearer  look  at  that  beautiful  enamel 
brooch  of  yours?" 

It  was  Annesley's  impulse  to  step  back  as  with- 
out waiting  for  permission  the  narrow  head,  sleekly 
brushed  and  slightly  bald  at  the  top,  bent  over  her 
laces.  But  she  remembered  herself  in  time  and  stood 
still.  She  dared  not  glance  at  Knight,  to  send  him  a 
message  of  encouragement,  but  she  knew  that  for 
once  even  his  resourcefulness  had  failed,  and  that 
he  must  be  steeling  himself  to  the  brutal  discovery  of 
his  secret. 

Yet  even  then  she  did  not  guess  what  Ruthven 


THE  STAR  SAPPHIRE  235 

Smith's  plan  was  until  the  thing  had  happened.  He 
peered  at  the  brooch,  which  represented  a  bunch  of 
grapes  in  small  cabochon  amethysts  and  leaves  of 
green  enamel.  Adjusting  his  eyeglasses,  they  slipped 
from  his  nose  and  fell  on  the  lace  of  her  fichu. 

"  Oh,  how  awkward  of  me !  A  thousand  pardons ! " 
he  cried.  Making  a  nervous  grab  for  the  glasses, 
which  hung  from  a  chain,  he  snatched  up  her  chain  as 
well,  and  with  a  quick  jerk  of  seeming  inadvertence 
wrenched  from  its  warm  hiding-place  a  ring  with  a 
flash  of  brilliants  and  a  glint  of  blue. 

Annesley's  heart  had  given  one  great  throb  and 
then  missed  a  beat,  for  there  had  been  an  awful  in- 
stant as  the  "plan"  developed  when  she  feared  that 
the  ring  with  the  blue  diamond  might,  after  all  her 
pains,  have  become  entangled  with  the  chain.  If 
it  had,  the  violence  of  the  jerk  might  have  brought 
it  to  light. 

But  she  had  accomplished  her  task  well.  She 
could  afford  to  smile,  though  her  lips  trembled,  as 
she  saw  the  bird-of-prey  look  fade  from  Ruthven 
Smith's  face  and  turn  into  bewildered  humiliation. 

Right  was  on  his  side;  yet  he  had  the  air  of  a  cul- 
prit, and  some  wild  strain  in  Annesley's  nature  which 
had  been  asleep  till  that  instant  sang  a  song  of  tri- 
umph in  the  victory  of  her  "plan"  over  his.  How 
delighted  Knight  would  be,  and  how  amazed  and 
grateful — grateful  as  he  had  been  when  she  "stood 
by  him"  with  the  watchers! 

As  Ruthven  Smith  stammered  apologies  her  eyes 
flashed  to  Knight's;  but  there  was  none  of  the  defiant 


236  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

laughter  she  had  expected,  and  felt  bound  to  re- 
proach him  for  later. 

He  was  pale,  and  though  his  immense  power  of 
self-control  kept  him  in  check,  Annesley  shrank  al- 
most with  horror  from  the  fury  of  rage  against 
Ruthven  Smith  which  she  read  in  her  husband's 
gaze  and  the  beating  of  the  veins  in  his  temples. 

Terrified  lest  his  anger  should  break  out  in  words, 
she  hurried  on  to  say  what  she  would  have  said  be- 
fore the  sudden  move  by  the  jewel  expert. 

"Here  is  the  sapphire  ring  you  asked  about, 
Knight,"  she  said.  "I  was  just  going  to  take  off 
this  chain  and  give  it  to  you  to  show  to  the  Duke 
when " 

"When  Mr.  Ruthven  Smith  took  an  unwarrant- 
able liberty,"  Knight  finished  the  sentence  icily. 

"I — I  meant  nothing.  Really,  I  can't  tell  you 

how  I  regret "  the  wretched  man  stuttered.  But 

Knight  was  without  mercy. 

"Pray  don't  try  any  further,"  he  cut  in.  "My 
wife  is  not  a  figurine  in  a  shop  window  to  have  her 
ornaments  stared  at  and  pawed  over.  You  are  an 
old  friend  of  hers,  Mr.  Ruthven  Smith,  and  you  are 
my  guest — or  rather  my  friend  Annesley-Seton's 
guest — therefore  I  will  say  no  more.  But  in  some 
countries  where  I  have  lived  such  an  incident  would 
have  ended  differently." 

"Oh,  please,  Knight!"  exclaimed  Annesley,  thank- 
ful that  at  least  he  had  spoken  his  harsh  words  in  so 
low  a  voice  that  no  one  outside  their  own  group  of 
three  could  hear.  But  she  was  shocked  out  of  her 


THE  STAR  SAPPHIRE  237 

brief  exultation  by  his  white  rage  and  the  depths 
revealed  by  the  lightning  flash  of  anger.  Also  she 
was  sorry  for  Ruthven  Smith,  even  while  she  resented 
the  plot  which  it  was  evident  he  had  come  to  carry 
out. 

With  unsteady  hands  she  lifted  the  delicate  chain 
over  her  hair  and  gave  it  to  her  husband. 

"  The  ring  is  rather  large  for  my  finger.  Here  it  is 
for  you  to  show  to  the  Duke,"  she  reminded  him. 

"Thank  you,  Anita,"  he  said.  And  she  knew 
that  he  thanked  her  for  more  than  what  she  gave 
him. 

"I  am  a  thousand  times  sorry,"  Ruthven  Smith 
persisted.  "More  sorry  than  I  can  ever  explain,  or 
you  will  ever  know." 

"Indeed  it  was  nothing,"  the  girl  comforted  him  in 
her  soft  young  voice.  But  she  read  in  his  words  a  hid- 
den meaning,  as  she  had  read  one  into  Knight's.  She 
did  know  that  which  he  believed  she  would  never 
know:  the  meaning  of  his  act,  and  the  effort  it  had 
cost  to  screw  his  courage  to  the  sticking  place. 

Also,  as  the  star  sapphire  with  its  sparkle  of 
diamonds  had  flashed  into  sight,  she  had  seemed  to 
read  his  mind.  She  guessed  he  must  be  telling  him- 
self that  his  informant — the  Countess,  or  some  other 
—had  mistaken  one  blue  stone  for  another. 

"Let's  go  and  join  Constance  and  the  Duchess," 
she  went  on,  quietly.  "They're  looking  at  some 
lovely  things  you  will  like  to  see.  And  you  must  for- 
get that  Knight  was  cross.  He  has  lived  in  wild 
places,  and  he  has  a  hot  temper." 


238  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

"I  deserved  what  I  got,  I'm  afraid,"  murmured 
Ruthven  Smith. 

**  After  all,  nothing  exciting  seems  likely  to  happen 
to-night  in  this  room,  in  spite  of  the  Countess's 
prophecy,"  said  Constance.  "Perhaps  it  may  be 
to-morrow  or  Monday." 

"I  hope  nothing  more  exciting  will  happen  then 
than  to-night!"  Annesley  exclaimed,  with  a  kindly 
glance  at  her  companion.  She  pitied  him,  but  she 
pitied  herself  more,  for  by  and  by  she  and  Knight 
would  have  to  talk  this  thing  out  together. 

For  the  first  time  she  dreaded  the  moment  of  being 
alone  with  her  husband.  There  was  a  stain  of  clay 
on  the  feet  of  her  idol,  and  though  she  had  helped 
him  to  hide  it  from  other  eyes,  nothing  could  be 
right  between  them  again  until  she  had  told  him  what 
she  thought — until  he  had  promised  to  make  resti- 
tution somehow  of  the  thing  he  should  never  have 
possessed. 


CHAPTER  XIX 
THE  SECRET 

KNIGHT  and  Annesley  had  a  suite  of  rooms  on  the 
ground  floor  in  what  was  known  as  "the  new  wing" 
at  Valley  House.  On  the  floor  above  were  the  rooms 
occupied  by  Lord  and  Lady  Annesley-Seton. 

This  wing  was  a  dreadful  anachronism,  shocking  to 
architects,  for  it  had  been  tacked  on  to  the  house  in 
the  eighteenth  century  by  some  member  of  the  family 
who  had  made  the  "grand  tour"  and  fallen  in  love 
with  Italy.  Seeing  no  reason  why  a  classic  addition 
with  a  high-pillared  loggia  should  be  unsuitable  to  a 
house  in  England  built  in  Elizabethan  and  Jacobean 
days,  he  had  made  it. 

Fortunately  it  was  so  situated  as  not  to  be  seen 
from  the  front  of  the  building,  or  anywhere  else 
except  from  the  one  side  which  it  deformed;  and 
there  a  more  artistic  grandson  had  hidden  the  abor- 
tion as  much  as  possible  by  planting  a  grove  of  beau- 
tiful stone-pines. 

As  for  the  wing  itself,  the  interior  was  the  most 
"liveable"  part  of  the  house,  and  with  the  modern 
improvements  put  in  to  please  the  American  bride 
before  her  fortune  vanished,  it  had  become  charm- 
ing within.  Annesley's  bedroom  and  her  husband's 

239 


240  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

adjoining  had  long  windows  opening  out  on  the  loggia 
and  looking  between  tall,  straight  trunks  of  umbrella 
pines  toward  the  distant  sea. 

It  was  late  before  she  could  slip  away  to  her  own 
quarters,  for  she  had  been  wanted  for  bridge,  an 
amusement  which  she  secretly  thought  the  last  refuge 
for  the  mentally  destitute.  She  had  told  her  maid 
not  to  sit  up;  and  she  was  thankful  to  close  the  door 
of  the  small  corridor  or  vestibule  which  led  into  the 
suite,  knowing  that  until  Knight  came  she  would  be 
alone. 

She  wanted  him  to  come,  and  meant  to  wait 
(it  did  not  matter  how  long)  until  they  could  have 
that  talk  she  wished  for  yet  dreaded  intensely. 
Meanwhile,  however,  it  was  good  to  have  a  few  min- 
utes hi  which  to  compose  her  mind,  to  decide  whether 
she  should  begin,  or  expect  Knight  to  do  so;  and 
how  she  could  frankly  let  him  see  her  state  of  mind 
without  seeming  too  harsh,  too  relentless,  to  the  man 
who  had  given  her  happiness  with  both  hands — the 
only  real  happiness  she  had  ever  known. 

She  sat  for  a  while  in  the  boudoir,  thinking  that 
Knight  might  come  soon,  before  she  began  to  undress. 
There  was  a  dying  glow  of  coal  and  logs  in  the  fire- 
place, but  staring  into  the  rosy  mass  brought  no 
inspiration.  She  could  not  concentrate  her  thoughts 
on  the  scene  which  must  presently  be  enacted;  they 
would  go  straggling  wearily  to  other  scenes  already 
acted,  even  as  far  back  as  that  hour  at  the  Savoy 
when  a  young  man  who  looked  to  her  like  the  hero 
of  a  novel  begged  to  sit  at  her  table. 


THE  SECRET  241 

He  still  seemed  as  much  as  ever  like  the  hero  of  a 
novel  in  which  he  had  splendidly  made  her  the 
heroine;  but  it  was  not  a  pleasant  chapter  she  had 
to  read  now.  It  reminded  her  too  intensely  of  the 
mystery  surrounding  the  hero,  and  forced  her  to 
realize  that  stories  of  real  life  have  not  always  happy 
endings. 

"But  ours  must!"  she  said  to  herself,  springing  up, 
unable  to  rest.  "Nothing  can  break  our  love;  and 
while  we  have  that  we  have  everything!" 

She  could  no  longer  sit  still,  and  going  into  her 
bedroom  she  peeped  through  the  door  into  Knight's 
room  beyond.  It  was  dark,  as  she  expected  to  find 
it;  for  she  had  been  almost  sure  that  she  would  have 
heard  him  if  he  had  entered  the  vestibule. 

Returning  to  her  own  rooms,  she  pulled  back  the 
sea-blue  curtains  which  covered  the  large  window 
looking  on  to  the  loggia.  The  sky  was  silver- white 
with  moonlight  between  the  black  stems  of  the  tall 
pines,  and  a  flood  of  radiance  poured  into  the  room. 
It  was  so  beautiful  and  bright,  bringing  with  it  so 
heavenly  a  sense  of  peace,  that  the  girl  could  not 
bear  to  draw  the  curtains  again.  She  began  slowly 
to  undress  by  moonlight  and  the  faint  red  glow  in  the 
fireplace. 

Her  first  act  was  to  recover  the  blue  diamond  ring 
and  to  drop  it  with  shrinking  fingers  into  the  jewel- 
case  on  her  dressing  table. 

Taking  off  her  dinner  frock,  she  put  on  a  white 
silk  gown  which  turned  her  into  a  pale  spirit  flitting 
hither  and  thither  in  the  silver  dusk.  Still  Knight 


242  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

had  not  come.  She  pulled  out  the  four  great  tortoise- 
shell  pins  which  held  up  her  hair,  and  let  it  tumble 
over  her  shoulders.  As  she  began  to  twist  it  into 
one  heavy  plait,  she  walked  to  the  window  and  stood 
looking  out. 

It  seemed  to  her  that  the  black  trunks  and  out- 
stretched branches  of  the  trees  were  like  prison  bars 
across  the  moonlight.  She  wished  she  had  not  had 
that  thought,  but  as  it  persisted,  a  figure  moved  be- 
hind the  bars,  the  figure  of  a  man. 

At  first  she  was  startled,  for  it  was  very  late,  long 
after  one  o'clock;  but  as  the  man  came  nearer,  she 
recognized  him,  although  the  light  was  at  his  back. 
It  was  Knight;  and  as  though  her  thought  called  to 
him,  he  stopped  suddenly,  pausing  on  the  lawn  not 
far  from  the  loggia.  She  could  not  see  his  face,  but 
it  seemed  that  he  was  staring  straight  up  at  her  win- 
dow. 

"He  has  been  walking  in  the  moonlight,  thinking 
things  over  just  as  I  have  in  here!"  the  girl  told  her- 
self. Surely  he  could  see  her!  But  no,  he  turned, 
and  was  striding  away  with  his  head  down,  when  she 
knocked  sharply  and  impulsively  on  the  pane. 

Hearing  the  sound,  yet  not  knowing  whence  it 
came,  he  stopped  again,  and  so  gave  Annesley  time 
to  open  the  window. 

"Knight!"  she  called,  softly. 

Then  he  came  straight  to  her  across  the  strip  of 
lawn  and  up  the  two  steps  that  led  to  the  loggia. 
She  met  him  on  the  threshold  and  saw  his  face  deadly 
pale  in  the  moonlight.  Perhaps  it  was  only  an  ef- 


THE  SECRET  243 

feet  of  light,  but  she  thought  that  he  looked  tired, 
even  ill.     Still  he  did  not  speak. 

"Knight,  you  almost  frightened  me!"  she  said. 

"I  was  afraid  for  an  instant  you  might  be — might 
i » 

"A  thief!"  he  finished  for  her. 

"Or  a  ghost,"  she  amended.  "Weren't  you  com- 
ing in?" 

"No,"  he  said.  "I  hadn't  thought  of  it.  Do  you 
want — shall  I  come  in?" 

"Yes,  please  do.     I — I've  been  waiting  for  you." 

"I'm  sorry!  I  hoped  you'd  have  gone  to  bed. 
But  I  might  have  known  you  wouldn't." 

As  she  retreated  from  the  window,  he  followed  her, 
as  if  reluctantly,  into  the  room. 

"Shall  I  draw  the  curtains?"  he  asked.  There 
was  weariness  in  his  voice,  as  in  his  face.  Annesley's 
heart  went  out  to  her  beloved  sinner  with  even  more 
tenderness  than  before. 

"No,  let's  talk  in  the  moonlight,"  she  answered. 
"Oh,  Knight,  I  am  glad  you've  come!  I  began  to 
think  you  never  would!" 

"Did  you?  That's  not  strange,  for  I  was  saying 
to  myself  that  same  thing." 

"What  same  thing?     I  don't  understand." 

"That  I — well,  that  I  never  ought  to  come  to 
you  again." 

She  sank  down  on  a  low  sofa  near  the  window,  and 
looked  up  to  him  as  he  stood  tall  and  straight,  seem- 
ing to  tower  over  her  like  one  of  the  pine  trees  out 
there  under  the  moon. 


244  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

"Oh,  Knight!"  she  faltered.  "It's  not— so  bad 
as  that!" 

"Isn't  it?"  he  caught  her  up  sharply,  eagerly. 
"Do  you  mean  what  you  say?  Isn't  it,  to  you — as 
bad  as  that?" 

"No — no,"  she  soothed  him.  "You  see,  I  love 
you.  That's  all  the  difference,  isn't  it?  You've 
been  everything  to  me.  You've  made  my  life — that 
used  to  be  so  gray — so  bright,  so  sweet.  Only  the 
blackest  thing — oh,  an  unimaginably  blackest  thing! 
— could  come  between  us,  or 

Before  she  could  finish,  he  was  on  his  knees  at  her 
feet,  holding  her  in  his  arms,  crushing  her  against  his 
breast,  soft  and  yielding  in  her  light  dressing-gown, 
with  her  flowing  hair. 

"My  God,  Annesley,  it's  too  good  to  be  true!" 
he  said,  his  breath  hot  on  her  face  as  he  kissed  her 
cheek,  her  hair,  her  eyes.  "You  can  forgive  me? 
I  thought  you'd  go  away.  I  thought  you'd  refuse 
to  let  me  come  near  you.  I  was  walking  out  there 
wondering  how  to  make  it  easy  for  you — whether  I 
could  get  rid  of  myself  without  scandal." 

She  had  been  sure  that  he  must  have  repented 
long  ago,  and  that  it  would  hurt  him  dreadfully  to 
have  her  find  out  the  thing  he  had  done,  but  she 
had  not  dreamed  that  his  self-abasement  would  be 
so  complete.  She  put  her  arms  around  him  as  he 
held  her,  and  pressed  his  head  against  her  neck — the 
dear,  smooth  black  head  which  she  loved  better  than 
ever  in  this  rush  of  pardoning  pity. 

"Dearest!"  she  whispered.     "Never,  never  think 


THE  SECRET  245 

or  speak  of  such  a  dreadful  way  out!  Of  course  it 
was  horribly  wrong,  and  of  course  it  was  a  great  shock 
to  me,  but  you  might  have  known  from  my  doing 
what  I  could  to  help  that  I  didn't  hate  you.  I  said 
to  myself  there  must  be  some  excuse — somebig  excuse. 
And  now,  if  only  you  wouldn't  mind  telling  me  about 
it  from  the  beginning,  I  believe  it  would  be  the  best 
way  for  us  both.  Then  I  might  understand." 

"You  are  God's  own  angel,  Anita!"  he  said  in  a 
choked  voice.  *' You  don't  know  how  I've  learned  to 
love  you,  better  than  anything  in  this  world  or 
the  next — if  there  is  a  next.  I  knew  you  were  a 
saint,  but  I  didn't  know  that  saints  forgave  men 
like  me.  .  .  .  Shall  I  really  tell  you  from  the 
beginning?  You'll  listen — and  bear  it?  It's  a  long 
story." 

Annesley  did  not  see  why  the  story  of  his  buying 
the  historic  stolen  diamond  and  giving  it  to  her 
should  be  so  very  long,  even  with  its  explanations; 
but  she  did  not  say  this. 

*'I  don't  care  how  long  it  is,"  she  told  him.  "But 
you  will  be  tired — down  on  your  knees — — 

"I  couldn't  tell  my  story  to  you  in  any  way  except 
on  my  knees,"  he  answered.  And  the  new  humility 
of  the  man  she  had  loved  half  fearfully  for  his  daring, 
his  defiant  way  of  facing  life,  almost  hurt,  as  his 
sudden  passion  had  startled  the  girl. 

"I  hardly  know  how  to  begin,"  he  said.  "Per- 
haps it  had  better  be  with  my  father  and  mother, 
because  it  was  the  tragedy  of  their  lives  that  shaped 
mine."  He  was  silent  for  a  moment,  as  if  thinking. 


246  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

Then  he  drew  a  long  breath,  as  a  man  does  when  he 
is  ready  to  take  a  plunge  into  deep  water. 

"My  mother  was  a  Russian.  Her  people  were 
noble,  but  that  didn't  keep  them  from  going  to  Si- 
beria. She  was  brought  to  America  by  a  man  and 
woman  who'd  been  servants  in  her  family.  She 
was  very  young,  only  fifteen.  Her  name  was  Mich- 
aela.  I'm  named  after  her — Michael.  The  three 
had  only  money  enough  to  be  allowed  to  land  as 
immigrants,  and  to  get  out  west — though  her 
people  had  been  rich."  He  paused  a  moment  for  a 
sigh. 

"She  and  the  servants — they  passed  as  her  father 
and  mother — found  work  in  Chicago.  My  father 
was  a  lawyer  there.  He  was  an  Englishman,  you 
know — I've  told  you  that  before — but  he  thought  his 
profession  was  overstocked  at  home,  so  he  tried  his 
luck  on  the  other  side.  The  old  Russian  chap  was 
hurt  in  the  factory  where  he  worked,  and  that's  the 
way  my  father — whose  name  was  Robert  Donaldson 
— got  to  know  my  mother.  There  was  a  question  of 
compensation,  and  my  father  conducted  the  case. 
He  won  it. 

"And  he  won  a  wife,  too.  She  was  nineteen  when 
I  was  born.  Father  was  getting  on,  but  they  were 
poor  and  had  a  hard  time  to  make  ends  meet.  They 
worshipped  each  other  and  worshipped  me.  You 
can  think  whether  I  adored  them! 

"Mother  was  the  most  beautiful  creature  you  ever 
saw.  Everyone  looked  at  her.  I  used  to  notice 
that  when  I  was  a  wee  chap,  walking  with  my  hand 


THE  SECRET  247 

in  hers.  When  I  was  ten  and  going  to  school  my 
father  had  a  bad  illness — rheumatic  fever.  We  got 
hard  up  while  he  was  sick;  and  then  came  a  letter  for 
mother  from  Russia.  Some  distant  relations  in 
Moscow  had  had  her  traced  by  detectives.  It 
seemed  there  was  quite  a  lot  of  money  which  ought  to 
come  to  her,  and  if  she  would  go  to  Russia  and  prove 
who  she  was  she  could  get  it. 

"If  father'd  been  well  and  making  enough  for  us 
all  he'd  never  have  let  her  go,  but  he  was  weak  and 
anxious  about  the  future,  so  she  took  things  into  her 
own  hands  and  went,  without  waiting  for  yes  or  no, 
or  anything  except  to  find  a  woman  who'd  look  after 
father  and  me  while  she  was  gone.  Well,  she  never 
came  back.  Can  you  guess  what  became  of  her?" 
he  asked,  huskily. 

"She  died?"  Annesley  asked,  forgetting  in  her 
interest,  which  grew  with  the  story,  to  wonder  what 
the  history  of  Knight's  childhood  and  his  parents' 
troubles  had  to  do  with  the  Malindore  diamond. 

"She  died  before  my  father  could  find  her;  but  not 
for  a  long  time.  God — what  a  time  of  agony  for 
her!  Things  happened  I  can't  tell  you  about.  We 
heard  nothing,  after  a  letter  from  the  ship  and  a  cable 
from  Moscow  with  two  words — 'Well.  Love.' 

"For  a  while  father  waited  and  tried  not  to  be  too 
anxious;  but  after  a  time  he  telegraphed,  and  then 
again  and  again.  No  answer.  He  went  nearly  mad. 
Before  he  was  well  enough  to  travel  he  borrowed 
money  and  started  for  Russia  to  look  for  her.  I 
stayed  in  Chicago — and  kept  on  going  to  school. 


248  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

The  friends  who  took  care  of  me  made  me  do  that 
.  .  .  or  thought  so. 

"But  when  I  could,  I  played  truant.  I  was  in  a 
restless  state.  I  remember  how  I  felt  as  if  it  were 
yesterday.  Nothing  seemed  real,  except  my  father 
and  mother.  I  thought  about  them  all  the  time. 
I  couldn't  sleep,  and  I  couldn't  study.  I  couldn't 
bear  to  sit  at  a  desk.  I  picked  up  some  queer  pals 
in  those  months— or  they  picked  me  up.  I  suppose 
that  was  the  beginning  of  the  end. 

"I  think  while  he  was  away,  finding  out  terrible, 
unspeakable  things,  my  father  forgot  about  me — or 
else  he  didn't  realize  I  was  big  enough  to  mind.  He 
never  wrote.  When  he  came  back,  after  eleven 
months,  he  was  an  old  man,  with  gray  hair.  I'll 
never  forget  the  night  he  came,  and  how  he  told  me 
about  mother.  It  was  a  moonlight  night,  like  this — 
with  no  light  in  the  room.  It  was  the  last  night  of 
my  childhood." 

As  the  man  talked,  he  had  lifted  his  head  from 
the  soft  pillow  of  the  girl's  white  neck,  and  was  look- 
ing into  her  eyes,  his  face  close  to  hers.  Annesley 
was  not  thinking  about  the  diamond. 

"For  a  long  time,"  Knight  went  on,  slowly,  "father 
could  not  trace  my  mother.  He  expected  to  find  the 
relations  who  had  sent  her  word  about  the  legacy, 
but  they  were  gone — nobody  could  tell  where.  No- 
body wanted  to  speak  of  them.  They  seemed  afraid. 
Father  went  to  the  British  and  American  Embassies; 
no  use!  But  at  last  he  got  to  know,  in  subterranean 
ways,  that  mother  hadn't  realized  how  dangerous 


THE  SECRET  249 

it  is  to  speak  your  mind  in  Russia.  She'd  left  there 
before  she  was  sixteen ! 

"She  had  said  things  about  her  father  and  mother, 
and  what  she  thought  of  the  ruling  powers,  and  that 
same  night — she'd  been  in  Moscow  two  days — 
she  and  her  relatives  disappeared.  It  leaked  out 
through  a  member  of  the  secret  police  that  she  could 
have  been  saved  by  her  beauty — someone  high  up 
offered  to  get  her  free.  But  she  preferred  another 
fate. 

"She  was  sent  to  Siberia  where  her  father  and 
mother  had  gone,  and  had  died  years  before.  My 
father  met  a  man  who  had  seen  her  on  the  way  as  he 
was  coming  back.  She  was  only  just  alive.  The 
man  was  sure  she  couldn't  have  lived  more  than  a 
few  weeks. 

"Yet  father  wouldn't  give  up.  He  went  after 
her.  .  .  .  But  what's  the  use  of  going  on?  He 
found  the  place  where  she  had  died.  .  .  .  Which 
ends  that  part  of  the  story,  as  a  story. 

"Only  it  didn't  end  it  for  us.  It  filled  our  hearts 
with  bitterness.  We  wanted  revenge.  Yet  my 
father  was  too  good  a  man  to  take  it  when  his  chance 
came.  His  conscience  held  him  back.  But  he 
talked — talked  like  an  anarchist,  a  man  out  to  fight 
and  smash  all  the  hypocritical  institutions  of  society. 
If  it  hadn't  been  for  me  he'd  have  killed  himself  in 
Siberia  where  his  wife  had  died  a  martyr;  and  it 
would  have  been  well  for  him  if  he  had ! 

"Because  of  the  wild  way  he  talked  when  suspi- 
cion of  fraud  was  thrown  on  him  by  a  partner  the 


250  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

fool  public  believed  in  his  guilt.  He  died  in  prison 
when  I  was  fifteen,  and  I  swore  to  punish  the  beast 
of  a  world  that  had  killed  all  I  loved.  I  swore  I'd 
make  that  my  life's  work,  and  I  have.  But — God ! — 
I've  punished  myself,  too,  at  last.  I'm  punished 
through  you,  because  I've  fallen  in  love  with  you, 
Anita,  and  for  your  sake  I'd  give  the  years  that  may 
be  in  front  of  me — all  time  but  one  day  to  be  glad  in, 
if  I  could  blot  out  the  past!" 

"Maybe,"  the  girl  faltered,  "maybe  you're  too 
hard  on  yourself.  I  can't  believe  that  you,  who  have 
been  so  good  to  me,  could  have  been  very  bad  to 
others." 

"If  I  could  hope  you  wouldn't  be  too  hard  on  me, 
that's  all  I  care  for  now!"  he  cried,  passionately. 
"You  remember  my  saying  that  night  in  the  taxi 
that  the  worst  I'd  ever  done  was  to  try  and  pay 
back  a  great  wrong,  and  take  revenge  on  society? 
If  I  could  hope  you  meant  what  you  said  about 
understanding  I'd  tell  you  the  story  of  that  re- 
venge." 

"I  did  mean  it,  Knight.  My  love  will  help  me  to 
understand." 

"You  make  me  believe  in  a  God,  for  surely  only 
God  could  have  sent  such  an  angel  as  you  into  my 
life.  ...  In  a  way,  I  haven't  deceived  you  about 
myself,  for  I  warned  you  I  was  a  bad  man.  But 
when  I  think  of  the  night  we  met  and  the  trick  I 
played  on  you,  it  makes  me  sick!  I  thought  you'd 
loathe  me  if  you  ever  found  out.  But  I  didn't  in- 
tend to  let  you  find  out.  It  was  to  be  a  dead  secret 


THE  SECRET  251 

forever,  like  the  rest.  Yet  if  I  tell  you  what  my  life 
has  been  you'll  have  to  know  that  part,  too.  If  I 
kept  it  back  you  might  think  it  worse  than  it  was.'* 

"A  trick?"  echoed  Annesley. 

"Yes.  A  trick  to  interest  you — to  make  you  like 
and  want  to  help  me.  Besides,  it  was  to  be  a  test  of 
your  courage  and  presence  of  mind.  If  you  hadn't 
those  qualities  you'd  have  been  a  failure  from  my 
point  of  view.  You  see,  I  hadn't  had  time  to  fall  in 
love  with  you  then.  And  I  wanted  you  for  a  'help- 
mate* in  the  literal  sense  of  the  word.  It  seems  a 
pretty  sordid  sense,  looking  back  from  where  we've 
got  to  now.  But  that  was  my  scheme.  A  mean, 
cowardly  scheme!  And  it's  thanks  to  you  and  your 
blessed  dearness  I  see  it  in  its  true  light.  .  .  . 
Do  you  begin  to  understand,  Anita — knowing  some- 
thing of  what  my  life  has  been,  or  must  I  explain?" 

"I — I'm  afraid  you  must  explain,"  she  answered 
in  a  small  voice,  like  a  child's.  She  felt  suddenly 
weak  and  sick,  as  if  she  might  collapse  in  the  man's 
arms.  It  was  as  if  some  terrible  weapon  wrapped 
round  and  half  hidden  in  folds  of  velvet  were  lifted 
above  her  head  to  strike  her  down. 

She  shrank  from  the  blow,  yet  asked  for  it.  Al- 
ready she  guessed  dimly  that  Knight's  confession 
was  to  be  very  different  from  and  far  more  terrible 
than  anything  she  had  expected. 

"I  was  the  man  whose  advertisement  you  an- 
swered— the  man  who  wrote  you  the  stiff  letter  in 
the  handwriting  you  didn't  like,  signed  N.  Smith." 

"Oh!'*    The  word  broke  from  her  in  a  moan. 


-252  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

"Darling!     Have  I  lost  you  if  I  go  on?" 

"You  must  go  on!"  she  cried  out,  sharply.  "For 
both  our  sakes  you  must  go  on ! " 

"I  know  how  it  looks  to  you.  And  it  was  vile. 
But  I  couldn't  be  sure  when  I  advertised  what  an 
angel  would  answer  to  my  call,  and  what  a  brute  I 
should  be  to  deceive  her.  I  thought  the  sort  of 
girl  who'd  reply  to  an  'ad'  for  a  wife  would  be  fair 
game;  that  I  should  be  giving  her  an  equivalent  for 
what  she'd  give  me. 

"For  my  business  that  I  had  to  carry  out  in 
England  I  needed  a  wife  of  another  sort  from  any  wo- 
man I  knew,  or  could  get  to  know,  in  an  ordinary  way; 
she  had  to  be  of  good  birth  and  education,  nice- 
looking  and  pleasant-mannered — if  possible  with 
highly  placed  friends  or  relatives.  Money  didn't 
matter.  I  had  enough — or  would  have.  I  got  a  lot 
of  answers,  but  the  only  one  that  seemed  good  was 
yours.  I  felt  nearly  certain  you  were  the  woman 
I  wanted,  so  I  rigged  up  a  plan.  You  know  how  it 
worked  out." 

"Maybe  I'm  stupid,"  Annesley  said,  dry -lipped. 
"I  don't  understand  yet." 

"Why,  I  thought  the  thing  over,  and  it  seemed  to 
me  that  married  life — if  it  came  to  that — would  be 
easier  for  both  if  the  man  could  make  some  sort  of 
appeal  to  the  love  of  romance  in  a  girl.  Well,  she 
wouldn't  think  the  man  who  had  to  get  the  right  sort 
of  wife  by  advertising  much  of  a  figure  of  romance. 
So  the  idea  came  to  me  of — of  starting  two  person- 
alities. I  wrote  you  a  stiff,  precise  sort  of  letter  in  a 


THE  SECRET  253 

disguised  business  hand,  making  an  appointment  at 
the  Savoy.  When  that  was  done,  the  writer  went 
out  of  your  life. 

"He  just  ceased  to  exist,  except  that  he  sat  behind 
a  big  screen  of  newspaper  and  watched  for  a  girl  in 
gray-and-purple,  wearing  a  white  rose,  to  pass 
through  the  foyer.  That  was  his  way  of  finding 
out  if  she'd  suit.  Jove,  how  beastly  it  does  sound, 
put  into  words,  and  confessed  to  you  !  But  you 
said  I  must  go  on." 

"Yes — go  on,"  Annesley  breathed. 

"You  were  about  one  hundred  times  better  than 
my  highest  hopes.  And  seeing  what  you  were,  I 
was  glad  I'd  thought  out  that  plan.  Even  then,  it 
was  borne  in  on  me  that  it  wouldn't  be  long  before 
I  found  myself  falling  in  love,  if  I  had  the  luck  to 
secure  you.  And  from  that  minute  the  business 
turned  into  an  exciting  play  for  me,  just  as  I  meant 
to  make  it  for  you.  I  let  you  wait  for  a  while,  but 
if  you'd  showed  any  signs  of  vanishing  I'd  have 
stepped  up.  I'd  got  a  trick  ready  for  that  emer- 
gency. 

"But  I  hoped  you'd  follow  instructions  and  go  to 
the  restaurant.  Once  there,  I  was  sure  the  head- 
waiter'd  persuade  you  to  sit  down  at  a  table;  and 
the  rest  went  exactly  as  I  planned.  The  two  men 
we  called  the  'watchers'  used  to  be  vaudeville  ac- 
tors— did  a  turn  together,  and  their  specialty  was 
lightning  changes.  Their  make-ups,  even  at  short 
notice,  could  fool  Sherlock  Holmes.  Even  though 
you  despise  me  for  it,  Anita,  you  must  admit  it  was  a 


254  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

smart  way  to  make  you  take  an  interest,  and  prove 
your  character. 

"Lord,  but  you  stood  the  test!  I  wouldn't  have 
given  you  up  at  any  price  then,  even  if  I  hadn't 
begun  falling  in  love.  I  saw  how  good  you  were;  and 
in  that  taxi  going  to  Torrington  Square  I  felt  mean 
as  dirt  for  tricking  you.  But  of  course  I  had  to  go 
on  as  I'd  begun. 

"At  first  I  thought  it  was  luck,  tumbling  into  the 
same  house  with  Ruthven  Smith;  but  now  I  see  it 
was  the  devil's  luck.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  Ruthven 
Smith  I  might  have  gone  on  living  the  part  I  played. 
You  need  never  have  known  the  truth.  And  I 
swear  to  you,  Annesley,  I'd  made  up  my  mind,  after 
finishing  off  my  work  with  the  men  who  are  with 
me,  that  I'd  run  straight  for  the  rest  of  my  days. 
The  business  was  making  me  sick,  for  being  close  to 
your  goodness  threw  a  light  into  dark  places. 

"By  heaven,  Anita,  it  does  seem  hard,  just  as  I 
was  near  to  being  the  man  you  thought  me,  that  that 
dried-up  curmudgeon  Ruthven  Smith  should  call  my 
hand  and  make  me  show  you  the  man  I  was!  But 
I  can't  help  seeing  there's  a  kind  of — what  they 
call  poetical  justice  in  it,  the  blow  coming  from  him. 
I've  always  been  like  that :  seeing  both  sides  of  a  thing 
even  when  I  wanted  to  see  only  one.  But  if  you 
can  see  both  sides,  you  will  make  the  good  grow, 
as  the  bright  side  of  the  moon  grows,  and  turns  the 
dark  side  to  gold. 

"Can  you  do  that,  do  you  think,  Anita?  Can  you 
see  any  excuse  for  me  in  going  against  the  world  to 


THE  SECRET  255 

pay  it  out  for  going  against  me  and  mine  ?  If  you've 
been  piecing  bits  of  evidence  together  since  Ruthven 
Smith  spoke,  you'll  have  remembered  that  only  heir- 
looms and  things  insured  by,  or  belonging  to,  public 
companies,  have  been  taken;  no  poor  people  have  been 
robbed;  and  except  in  the  case  of  Mrs.  Ellsworth, 
where  I  wanted  to  see  her  paid  out  for  her  treatment 
of  you " 

"'Robbed'!"  Catching  the  word,  Annesley  heard 
none  of  those  that  followed.  "Robbed  I  Oh,  it's 
not  possible  you  mean " 

Her  voice  broke.  With  both  hands  against  his 
breast  she  pushed  him  off,  and  struggled  to  rise,  to 
tear  herself  loose  from  him.  But  he  would  not  let 
her  go. 

"  What's  the  matter?  How  have  I  hurt  you  worse 
than  you  were  hurt  already  by  finding  out?"  he  ap- 
pealed to  her,  his  arms  like  a  band  of  steel  round  her 
shuddering  body.  "  When  you  heard  the  truth  about 
the  diamond,  it  was  the  same  as  if  you'd  heard  every- 
thing, wasn't  it?  You  guessed  Ruthven  Smith  sus- 
pected— someone  must  have  told  him — Madalena 
perhaps.  You  guessed  he  had  some  trick  to  play,  and 
in  the  quietest,  cleverest  way  you  checkmated  him, 
without  hint  or  help  from  any  one.  You  saved  me 
from  rum,  and  not  only  me,  but  others.  And  on  top 
of  all  that,  when  I  hoped  for  nothing  more  from  you, 
you  promised  me  forgiveness.  That's  what  I  under- 
stood. Was  I  mistaken?" 

"/  was  mistaken,"  she  answered,  almost  coldly; 
then  broke  down  with  one  agonized  sob.  "I 


256  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

thought — oh,  what  good  is  it  now  to  tell  you  what  I 
thought?" 

"You  must  tell  me!" 

"I  thought  you  had  bought  the  blue  diamond, 
knowing  it  had  been  stolen,  but  wanting  it  so  much 
you  didn't  care  how  you  got  it.  I  didn't  dream  that 
you  were  a " 

"That  I  was— what?" 

"A  thief— and  a  cheat!" 

"My  God!  And  now  you  know  I'm  both,  you 
hate  me,  Anita?  You  must,  or  you  wouldn't  throw 
those  words  at  me  like  stones." 

"Let  me  go,"  she  panted,  pushing  him  from  her 
again  with  trembling,  ice-cold  hands. 

He  obeyed  instantly.  The  band  of  steel  that 
had  held  her  fell  apart.  She  stumbled  up  from  the 
low  sofa,  and  trying  to  pass  him  as  he  knelt,  she 
would  have  fallen  if  he  had  not  sprung  to  his  feet 
and  caught  her. 

But  recovering  herself  she  turned  away  quickly 
and  almost  ran  to  a  chair  in  front  of  the  dressing 
table  not  far  off.  There  she  flung  herself  down  and 
buried  her  face  on  her  bare  arms. 

Knight  followed,  to  stand  staring  in  stunned  silence 
at  the  bowed  head  and  shaking  shoulders.  He  could 
hear  the  ticking  of  a  small,  nervous-sounding  clock 
on  the  mantelpiece.  It  was  like  the  beating  of  a 
heart  that  must  soon  break.  At  last,  when  the  tick- 
ing had  gone  on  unbearably  long,  he  spoke. 

"Anita,  you  called  me  a  cheat,"  he  said.  "I 
suppose  you  mean  that  I  cheated  you  by  playing  the 


THE  SECRET  257 

hero  that  night  at  the  Savoy,  and  stealing  your 
sympathy  and  help  under  false  pretenses;  that  I've 
been  steadily  cheating  you  and  your  friends  every 
day  since.  That's  true,  in  a  way — or  it  was  at  first. 
But  lately  it's  not  been  the  same  sort  of  cheating. 
It  began  to  be  the  real  thing  with  me.  I  mean  I  felt 
it  in  me  to  be  the  real  thing.  As  for  the  other  name 
you  gave  me — thief — I'm  not  exactly  that — not  a 
thief  who  steals  with  his  own  hands,  though  I  dare 
say  I'm  as  bad. 

"If  I  haven't  stolen,  I've  shown  others  the  most 
artistic  way  to  steal.  I've  shown  men  and  women 
how  to  make  stealing  a  fine  art,  and  I've  been  in 
with  them  in  the  game.  Indeed,  it  was  my  game. 
Madalena  de  Santiago,  and  the  two  men  you  knew 
first  as  the  *  watchers,'  then  as  Torrance  and  Morello, 
now  as  Charrington  and  Char,  have  been  no  more 
than  the  pawns  I  used,  or  rather  they've  been  my 
cat's  paws.  There's  only  one  other  man  at  the 
head  of  the  show  besides  me,  and  that  is  one  whose 
name  I  can't  give  away  even  to  you. 

"But  he's  a  great  man,  a  kind  of  financial  Na- 
poleon— a  great  artist,  too.  He  doesn't  call  himself 
a  thief.  He's  honoured  by  society  in  Europe  and 
America;  yet  what  I've  done  in  comparison  to  what 
he's  done  is  like  a  brook  to  the  size  of  the  ocean.  He 
has  a  picture  gallery  and  a  private  museum  which 
are  famous;  but  there's  another  gallery  of  pictures 
and  another  museum  which  nobody  except  himself 
has  ever  seen.  His  real  life,  his  real  joy,  are  in  them. 
Most  of  the  masterpieces  and  treasures  of  this  world 


258  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

which  have  disappeared  are  safe  in  that  hidden  place, 
which  I've  helped  to  fill. 

"That  man  has  no  regrets.  He  revels  in  what  he 
calls  his  'secret  orchard/  He  thinks  I  ought  to  be 
proud  of  what  I've  done  for  him;  and  so  I  was  once. 
I  came  here  and  brought  the  other  people  over  to  Eng- 
land to  work  for  him. 

"Not  that  that  fact  will  whitewash  me  in  your 
eyes;  not  that  I  wasn't  working  for  myself,  too,  and 
not  that  I'm  trying  to  make  more  excuses  by  explain- 
ing this.  But  I'd  like  you  to  understand,  at  least 
for  the  sake  of  your  own  pride,  that  you  haven't  been 
cheated  into  loving  and  living  with  a  common  thief. 
Does  that  make  it  hurt  less?'* 

"No,"  she  said  in  a  strange  tone  which  made  her 
voice  sound  like  that  of  an  old  woman.  "That 
doesn't  make  it  hurt  less.  It  makes  no  difference. 
I  think  nothing  can  ever  make  any  difference.  My 
life  is — over." 

"Don't,  for  God's  sake,  say  that!  Don't  force  me 
to  feel  a  murderer!"  he  cried  out,  sharply. 

"There's  nothing  else  to  say.  I  wish  I  could  die 
to-night." 

"If  one  of  us  is  to  die,"  he  said,  "let  it  be  me.  If 
you  hadn't  happened  to  see  me  and  call  me  in  when 
I  was  under  the  trees  bidding  good-bye  to  your  win- 
dow, by  this  time  I  might  have  found  a  way  out  of  the 
difficulty  without  any  scandal  or  trouble  to  you  what- 
ever. No  one  would  have  known  that  it  wasn't  an 
accident " 

"I  should  have  known." 


THE  SECRET  259 

"But  if  you  had,  it  would  have  been  a  relief ' 

"No.  Because  I — I  hadn't  heard  the  truth.  I 
didn't  understand  at  all.  I  thought  you  had  done 
one  unscrupulous  thing.  I  didn't  dream  your  whole 
life  was — what  it  is.  I  loved  you  as  much  as  ever. 
It  would  have  broken  my  heart  if  you " 

"But  now  that  you  don't  love  me,  it  wouldn't 
break  your  heart." 

"I  don't  seem  to  have  any  heart,"  Annesley  sighed. 
"It  feels  as  if  it  had  crumbled  to  dust.  But  it  would 
break  my  life  if  you  ended  yours.  If  anything  could 
be  worse  than  what  is,  it  would  be  that." 

"Very  well,  you  can  rid  yourself  of  me  in  another 
way,"  the  man  answered.  "You  can  denounce  me — 
give  me  up  to  *  justice.'  If  you  hand  over  the 
Malindore  diamond  to  Ruthven  Smith  and  tell  him 
how  you  got  it " 

"You  must  know  I  wouldn't  do  that!" 

"Why  not?" 

"Because  I— couldn't." 

"It  needn't  spoil  your  life.  No  one  could  blame 
you.  I  would  tell  the  story  of  how  I  deceived  you. 
You  could  free  yourself — get  a  divorce " 

"  Don't ! "  the  girl  cut  him  short.  "  I'm  not  think- 
ing of  myself.  I'm  thinking  of  you.  I  can't  love  you 
again,  and  I  wouldn't  if  I  could,  now  that  I — know. 
You're  a  different  man.  The  one  I  loved  doesn't 
exist  and  never  did;  yet  you've  told  me  your  secret, 
and  I'm  bound  to  keep  it.  I  don't  need  to  stop  and 
reflect  about  that.  But  as  for  what's  to  become  of 
me,  and  how  we're  to  manage  not  to  let  people  guess 


260  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

that  everything's  changed,  I  don't  know!  I  must 
think.  I  must  think  all  to-night,  until  to-morrow. 
Perhaps  by  that  time  I  can  decide.  Now — I  beg  of 
you  to  go  and  leave  me — this  moment.  I  can't 
bear  any  more  and  live." 

He  stood  looking  at  her,  but  she  turned  her  head 
away  with  a  petulant  gesture  of  repulsion;  and  lest 
her  eyes  might  feel  the  call  of  his  she  covered  them 
with  her  hands.  Her  hopelessness,  her  loathing  of 
him  enclosed  her  like  a  wall  of  ice. 

"  So !  The  dream's  over ! "  he  said.  "  *  This  woman 
to  this  man'!  What  a  farce — what  a  tragedy!'* 

When  she  looked  up  again  he  had  gone  and  the  door 
between  their  rooms  was  shut. 

The  moon  no  longer  lit  the  high  window.  With 
Knight's  going  darkness  fell. 


CHAPTER  XX 
THE  PLAN 

ANNESLEY  sat  as  Knight  had  left  her  for  a  long  time 
— minutes,  perhaps,  or  hours.  But  at  last  she  was 
very  tired  and  very  cold,  so  tired  that  she  threw  her- 
self weakly  on  the  bed,  in  her  dressing-gown,  because 
she  couldn't  sit  up.  All  through  the  rest  of  the  dark 
hours  she  lay  shivering,  and  did  not  even  trouble  to 
roll  herself  in  the  warm  down  coverlet  spread  lightly 
over  the  bed. 

It  seemed  right,  somehow,  that  she  should  be  cold 
and  miserable  physically.  She  did  not  care  or  wish 
to  be  comfortable. 

Over  and  over  again  she  asked  herself:  "What 
shall  I  do?  What  is  to  become  of  me — of  both  of 
us?"  She  tried  to  pray,  but  her  heart  was  too  hard 
toward  the  man  who  had  trampled  on  her  life  and 
love  for  his  own  cruel  purposes.  It  seemed  to  her 
that  God  would  not  hear  a  prayer  sent  up  in  such  a 
mood;  yet  she  did  not  want  to  soften  her  heart  to- 
ward the  sinner. 

Because  it  had  been  so  full  of  forgiveness  before  he 
poisoned  the  chalice  with  the  bitter  stream  of  con- 
fession, it  was  the  more  impossible  to  forgive  now. 
It  even  seemed  to  Annesley  that  it  would  be  mon- 

201 


262  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

strous  to  forgive,  in  the  ordinary,  human  sense  of  the 
word,  a  man  who  was  a  living  lie. 

If  there  were  room  for  thanksgiving  in  her 
wretchedness,  it  lay  in  the  fact  that  her  love  had  died 
a  swift  and  sudden  death.  Had  she  gone  on  loving 
in  spite  of  all,  such  love,  she  thought,  must  have 
brought  death  into  her  soul. 

She  did  not  know  how  to  name  her  husband  now. 
Even  hi  thinking  of  him  she  would  not  call  him 
"Knight." 

What  a  mockery  the  name  had  been!  How  he 
must  have  laughed  to  know  that  she  was  fool  enough 
to  believe  him  a  knight  of  chivalry,  who  had  come 
like  St.  George  to  rescue  her  from  the  dragon ! 

She  knew  at  last  that  the  name  he  had  not  wished 
her  to  see  in  the  parish  register  was  Michael  Donald- 
son. That  meant,  she  supposed,  that  her  name  was 
Donaldson,  too;  a  name  he  had  dragged  through  the 
mire. 

He  pretended  to  love  her.  But  such  a  man  could 
not'speak  the  truth.  He  had  tried  to  excuse  himself 
in  every  way.  To  talk  of  love  and  its  purifying  in- 
fluence was  only  one  of  these  ways.  He  would  not 
even  have  confessed  if  he  had  not  fallen  into  the 
mistake  of  thinking  she  understood  that  he  was  a 
thief,  or  head  of  a  gang  of  thieves. 

He  seemed  almost  to  boast  of  what  he  was.  .  .  . 
Oh,  how  horrible  life  had  become,  and  how  she 
wished  that  it  were  over!  She  wondered  if  it  would 
be  wicked  to  pray  that  her  heart  might  stop  beating 
to-night. 


THE  PLAN  263 

Yet  morning  came  and  her  heart  beat  on.  She 
did  not  even  feel  very  ill,  only  weak,  with  a  wiry 
throbbing  of  each  separate  nerve  in  her  head.  She 
had  meant  to  use  the  quiet  hours  to  decide  what  must 
be  done  next,  but  always,  when  she  had  tried  to  pin 
her  mind  to  the  question,  it  had  escaped  like  a  flutter- 
ing moth,  and  turned  to  self-pity,  or  to  calling  up 
pictures  of  the  past  which  brought  tears  to  her 
eyes. 

Now  the  time  was  upon  her  when  realities  must  be 
faced.  Before  seven  o'clock  it  was  light,  but 
neither  she  nor  Knight  were  accustomed  to  early  tea, 
and  there  was  more  than  an  hour  to  spare  before 
they  would  be  called  by  Parker. 

The  girl  sat  up  shivering,  though  the  room,  heated 
by  steam,  had  not  grown  bitterly  cold  when  the  grate 
fire  died.  She  looked,  heavy-eyed,  toward  her 
husband's  closed  door.  They  must  talk  things  over, 
and  make  some  plan. 

She  hated  the  very  word  "plan"  since  his  story  of 
the  trick  he  had  played  at  the  Savoy.  She  hated  the 
necessity  to  talk  with  him;  but  it  was  a  necessity. 
They  ought  to  arrange  something  for  the  future — 
the  blank  and  hateful  future — before  Parker  came, 
and  daily  life  began.  There  would  be  many  things  to 
settle,  questions  to  ask  and  answer;  a  sort  of  hideous 
campaign  would  have  to  be  mapped  out  in  details 
not  one  of  which  defined  itself  clearly  in  her  tired 
brain. 

"It's  no  use,"  she  said  to  herself.  "I  can't  think, 
after  all,  until  I  see  him  again.  Perhaps  he  will  make 


264  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

some  suggestions,  and  I  can  accept  or  refuse.  But  I 
can't  go  to  his  door  and  call  him." 

As  she  hesitated,  Knight — who  was  a  knight  no 
longer  in  her  eyes — opened  the  door,  very  softly,  not 
to  disturb  her  if  she  slept.  In  the  morning  light 
which  paled  the  uncurtained  window  their  eyes  met. 

Annesley  slipped  off  the  bed  and  stood  up,  cloak- 
ing her  bare  white  neck  with  her  hair.  Suddenly  she 
felt  that  he  was  a  strange  man  who  had  no  right  to  be 
hi  her  room.  He  was  not  the  husband  she  had  loved 
with  a  beautiful  and  sacred  love. 

"I  won't  come  if  you'd  rather  I  didn't,"  he  said. 
"I  only  looked  in  to  see  if  you  were  awake.  I 
thought  if  you  were,  and  if  you  could  stand  it,  it 
would  be  best  to — talk  about  what's  to  be  done." 
He  spoke  quietly,  standing  at  the  door.  He  was 
dressed  for  the  day,  as  if  nothing  had  happened;  and 
Annesley  felt  dimly  resentful  because  he  looked 
bathed  and  well-groomed,  his  black  hair  smooth  and 
carefully  brushed;  altogether  his  usual  self,  except 
that  he  was  pale  and  grave. 

"You  had  better  come  in,  I  suppose,"  the  girl 
replied,  grudgingly.  "I  was  thinking,  too,  that  we 
must  talk.  Let  us — get  it  over." 

"You  haven't  been  to  bed,  I  see,"  he  said,  his  eyes 
lingering  on  her  sadly.  It  flashed  through  Annes- 
ley's  mind  that  it  was  as  if  he  were  looking  for  the 
last  time  at  the  sweetness  and  happiness  of  life.  But 
her  heart  did  not  soften.  It  was  his  fault  that  there 
was  no  longer  any  happiness  or  sweetness  left  in  their 
lives. 


THE  PLAN  265 

"No,  I  haven't  been  to  bed,"  she  returned.  " But  it 
doesn't  matter.  I  am  not  ill.  Please  let  us  not  waste 
time  in  discussing  me.  There  are  other  things." 

"Yes,  there  are  other  things,"  he  agreed.  "But 
we'll  not  begin  to  talk  of  them  until  you  have  got  into 
bed  and  covered  yourself  up.  You're  as  white  as 
marble." 

"I  don't  want "  she  began;  but  he  cut  her 

short. 

"What  will  Parker  think  if  she  finds  your  bed 
hasn't  been  slept  in?" 

"Oh,  very  well!"  Annesley  assented,  impatiently. 
"I  must  get  used  to  tricks!" 

"Perhaps  not,"  said  Knight.  "I've  been  thinking 
of  ways  and  means.  Have  you?  Because  if  there's 
anything  you  feel  you  would  like  to  do,  you've  only 
to  tell  me." 

"I  haven't  been  able  to  think,"  she  confessed. 

"Well,  then,  I'll  tell  you  what  I've  thought." 

Annesley  had  now  crept  into  bed;  and  before  she 
could  protest  Knight  had  carefully  covered  her  with 
the  down  quilt.  Having  done  this,  he  drew  a  chair 
near,  yet  not  too  near,  and  sat  down.  It  was  as  if  he 
recognized  her  right  to  keep  him  at  a  distance. 

"You  said  last  night,"  he  began,  "that  you  didn't 
mean  to  denounce  me.  If  you've  changed  your 
mind,  I  sha'n't  blame  you;  I  deserve  it.  All  I  ask  is 
that  you  grant  me  time  to  warn  certain  persons  who 
would  go  down  if  I  went  down,  and  give  them  time  to 
make  a  bolt.  Madalena  de  Santiago  is  one.  I'm 
pretty  sure  that  out  of  spite  she  put  Ruthven  Smith 


266  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

on  to  looking  for  the  diamond,  but  I  don't  want  to 
punish  her.  Evidently  she — or  whoever  it  was — 
didn't  have  much  information  to  give,  or  the  man 
wouldn't  have  backed  down  and  apologized .  I 
should  like  to  find  out  exactly  what  he  had  to  go 
upon.  But  if  you've  changed  your  mind,  it's  not 
worth  while  to  bother  about  that : 

"I  have  not  changed  my  mind,"  Annesley  said. 

"You  are  very  good,  a  very  noble  woman.  If  I 
were  the  only  one  to  suffer  by  being  denounced,  I 
don't  think  I'd  care  much,  as  things  have  turned  out. 
But  there  are  others.  And  above  all,  there's  you. 
You  could  patch  up  your  life,  but  you'd  have  to 
suffer  more  or  less  if  I  were  dragged  over  the  coals. 
And  so,  taking  everything  together,  I'm  thankful  to 
accept  your  generosity. 

"We'll  call  that  settled.  I  don't  think  Ruthven 
Smith  has  any  suspicion.  We'll  see  about  that  later. 
Meanwhile,  he  doesn't  count.  And  Madalena  at  her 
worst  I  can  manage.  There's  nothing  to  be  feared. 
But  the  question  is,  how  are  we  two  to  go  on?" 

"You  must — whatever  else  we  decide — you  must 

give  up "  the  girl  stammered  from  her  pillows,  and 

could  not  bring  herself  to  finish. 

"  That  goes  without  saying,  doesn't  it?  In  any  case, 
there  was  only  to  be  one  more  coup.  I'd  warned 
everybody  concerned  of  my  decision  as  to  that." 

"One  more?    How  terrible!     Not — here?''' 

"Yes,  if  you  must  have  that,  too;  it  was  to  be  here. 
It  was  to  be  a  big  thing.  But  there's  time  to  stop  it." 

Annesley  buried  her  head  with  a  stifled  moan. 


THE  PLAN  267 

"It  wouldn't  have  hurt  any  of  the  people.  Only 
family  heirlooms  again — everything  insured.  And 
as  for  the  insurance  companies,  if  you  worry  over 
them,  it's  part  of  the  game.  They're  wallowing  in 
money.  .  .  .  But  I'll  call  the  thing  off.  And 
that's  the  end  for  me.  I'm  not  rich — not  the 
millionaire  I  pose  for;  still,  I've  earned  something. 
My  'Napoleon*  has  paid  me  well,  and  I've  had  a 
share  now  and  then  of  some  good  things.  There's 
enough  to  make  you  comfortable " 

"Do  you  think  I'd  take  a  penny  of  such  money?" 
the  girl  cried,  sick  with  indignation. 

"I've  worked  for  it,"  Knight  said,  with  a  kind  of 
unhappy  defiance,  "and  it  was  come  by  as  honestly 
as  a  lot  of  fortunes  made  on  the  stock  market.  You 
must  have  money 

"I  can  earn  some,  as  I  did  before." 

"No,  never  as  you  did  before!  Besides,  I  thought 
you'd  decided  on  having  no  open  break  between  us, 
no  scandal.  Or  wasn't  that  what  you  meant?" 

"It  was.  But — I  don't  see  yet  how  it  can  be 
managed.  Do  you?" 

"The  way  I  had  in  my  mind  was,  since  I've  lost 
your  love — oh,  I'm  not  complaining! — the  way  I 
had  in  my  mind  was  to  leave  you  over  here  with 
plenty  of  money,  and  be  suddenly  called  to  America 
on  business.  Then,  if  it  would  hurt  your  feelings  to 
have  me  put  myself  out  of  the  way,  it  needn't  hurt 
them  for  something  to  seem  to  happen .  Nelson  Smith 
could  be  wiped  off  the  map;  and  if  you  weren't  free 
to  marry  somebody  else,  at  least  you'd  be  free  of  me. 


268  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

"But  if  you  won't  take  my  money  that  plan  will 
not  work.  You  can  hate  me  as  much  as  you  like, 
but  I'm  not  going  to  leave  you  alone  in  the  world 
without  a  penny.  Neither  you  nor  any  one  can  force 
me  to  that.  .  .  .  I've  thought  of  another  thing, 
though,  since  we  began  to  talk.  Only  I  don't  like 
to  propose  it,  Anita.  It  isn't  a  good  plan — from  your 
point  of  view." 

"I'd  better  hear  it." 

"Well,  I  might  get  a  cable  hurrying  me  across  to 
the  other  side,  and — you  might  go  along." 

"Oh!" 

"I  warned  you  you  wouldn't  think  it  a  good  plan. 
But  since  I've  begun,  let  me  finish.  In  Canada  and 
the  United  States  I'm  known — in  my  least  important 
character — as  Michael  Donaldson,  and  I've  tried  to 
keep  the  name  clean  because  of  my  father  and 
mother.  When  there's  been  anything  shady  doing 
I've  taken  a  fancy  name  and  made  such  changes  as  I 
could  in  myself.  The  reason  I  didn't  want  you  to 
see  the  name  in  the  register  was  because  of  what 
happened  on  the  Monarchic.  I'd  given  you  that 
ring,  you  know.  I  couldn't  resist  doing  that.  I 
wanted  you  to  have  it,  not  because  of  its  value,  but 
because  it's  beautiful.  I  thought  it  was  like  you, 
somehow.  I  had  to  make  up  its  loss  in  another  way 
to  the  man  who  expected  to  have  it — that  *Nap»leon ' 
I  mentioned." 

"I  know,  the  old  man — Paul  Van  Vreck,"  Annesley 
guessed  with  weary  impatience. 

"I'll  not  say  yes  or  no  to  that.     But  it  will  be  bad 


THE  PLAN  269 

for  me,  and  perhaps  for  you,  too,  if  you  ever  mention 
Paul  Van  Vreck  in-such  a  connection.  Not  that  you'd 
be  believed." 

"I  sha'n't  mention  him  again." 

"Just  as  well  a*t.  .  .  .  But  it  was  my  name 
and  my  plan  I  be§ *»  to  speak  about.  I  was  going  to 
say,  you  needn't  be  afraid  that  if  you  took  my  name 
(which  is  yours  now),  you'd  have  to  be  ashamed  of  it. 
We  could  go  to  America,  and  in  England  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Nelson  Smith  would  soon  be  forgotten.  I'd 
hand  over  the  money  you  hate  to  charities — not  the 
kind  of  charities  I've  been  supporting  here !  They've 
all  been  part  of  what  you  call  my  fraud,  and  have  only 
given  me  a  chance  to  bring  some  rather  queer-looking 
fish  around  me,  who  might  have  raised  curiosity  if  I 
couldn't  have  accounted  for  them.  But  real  chari- 
ties. 

"And  if  you'd  stick  by  me — I  don't  mean  love  me; 
I  know  you  can't  do  that;  but  live  in  the  same  house 
and  not  chuck  me  altogether,  I'd  turn  over  a  new 
leaf.  I'd  begin  again  from  the  beginning. 

"In  Texas  I've  got  some  land — a  ranch.  It  isn't 
worth  much,  I'm  afraid,  but  I  came  by  it  honestly, 
for  me.  I  won  it  at  poker  from  a  man  named  Jack 
Haslett.  He  was  a  devil  for  cards,  but  it  didn't  mat- 
ter. He  was  rich;  and  he  had  a  better  ranch  that  he 
lived  on.  He's  dead  now — was  near  dead  then,  of 
consumption.  He  liked  me.  Said  he  was  glad  I'd 
won  the  ranch.  It  was  only  a  bother  to  him. 

"I  was  with  Jack  when  he  died,  and  did  what  I 
could  to  ease  him  at  the  end.  He  was  grateful,  and 


270  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

what  money  his  bad  luck  at  cards  had  left  him  he 
willed  to  me.  It  was  only  eight  thousand  dollars. 

"If  it  had  come  to  me  any  other  way,  I  dare  say 
I'd  have  chucked  it  away  in  a  month.  It  wouldn't 
have  seemed  worth  saving.  But  I  was  sort  of  senti- 
mental about  poor  old  Haslett  and  his  feeling  for  me. 
I  didn't  care  to  lump  his  money  in  with  what  I  got 
in  my  line  of  life.  I  made  a  separate  fund  of  it. 

"Some  had  to  go  toward  improvements  on  the 
place  before  I  could  let  the  ranch  to  any  one,  but 
there's  about  six  thousand  dollars  left,  I  guess.  The 
fellow  I  let  to  wrote  me  a  few  weeks  ago  that  he  was 
tired  of  ranching  and  wanted  to  clear  out.  He  hoped 
I  could  find  someone  to  buy  his  cattle  and  the 
furniture  he's  put  in  the  house.  The  letter  was  for- 
warded by  a  man  I  keep  in  touch  with  my  business 
and  whereabouts,  so  he  can  look  after  my  interests. 
I've  had  no  time  to  answer  yet. 

"I  was  going  to  write  that  I  didn't  know  any  one 
who  cared  to  settle  in  Texas;  but  now  what  if  I  wrote 
that  I'd  take  the  place  and  everything  on  it  off  the 
fellow's  hands  myself?" 

"I  don't  know  what  Texas  is  like,"  Annesley  re- 
plied, coldly.  "But  anything  would  be  better  than 
the  life  you're  leading  now." 

"I  wasn't  intending  to  go  alone,"  Knight  reminded 
her.  "I  said,  if  you'd  stick  by  me,  not  throw  me 
over  altogether,  I'd  try  and  begin  again.  In 
that  case,  Texas  would  do  as  well  as  anywhere;  and 
the  place  and  the  money  are  clean." 

"How  could  I  go  with  you,  and  live  under  the 


THE  PLAN  271 

same  roof,  with  everything  so  changed?"  the  girl 
exclaimed.  "  It  would  kill  me ! " 

"As  bad  as  that?  .  .  .  Well,  then,  I  must 
rack  my  brains  for  something  else.  But  I'm  sorry 
this  won't  do.  Would  you  care  to  live  with  Arch- 
deacon Smith  and  his  wife?" 

"  No.     No !    And  they  wouldn't  want  me." 

"That  seems  queer  to  me:  that  any  one  should 
have  the  chance  of  keeping  you  with  them,  and  not 
want  you.  .  .  .  How  would  it  be  for  you  to  go 
on  the  same  ship  with  me,  and  find  a  little  home 
somewhere  on  an  allowance  I  could  make  you  out 
of  that  fund?  You  see,  you  are  my  wife  in  the 
eyes  of  the  law,  so  I'm  bound  to  support  you.  And 
you're  bound  to  let  me  do  it,  if  I  can  do  it 
honestly." 

Annesley  flung  up  her  arms  in  a  gesture  of  abandon- 
ment. "Let  it  go  at  that,"  she  sighed,  "until  I  can 
think  of  something  better." 

"Very  well.  We  won't  argue  that  part  yet.  The 
thing  to  make  sure  of  at  the  moment  is  this:  Do  I 
get  a  cable,  say  on  the  day  everyone's  leaving  Valley 
House,  calling  me  back  to  America  on  urgent  business, 
and  do  I  take  you  with  me?" 

Annesley's  thoughts  raced  through  her  head  and 
would  not  stop.  Knight  did  not  speak.  He  was 
waiting  with  outward  patience  for  her  decision. 

It  seemed  that  she  would  never  know  what  to  say. 
She  was  about  to  tell  him  in  despair  that  she  must 
have  the  rest  of  the  day  to  make  up  her  mind,  but 
before  she  could  speak  Parker  knocked  at  the  door. 


272  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

"I'll  go  with  you,"  the  girl  said,  hastily.  "On  the 
ship.  But  after  that " 

Parker  knocked  again. 

"Come  in!"  called  Annesley. 

"Thank  you,"  Knight  said,  getting  up  from  his 
chair  near  her  bed. 

"  Don't  thank  me.     I " 

But  Parker  had  opened  the  door.  All  that  was 
conventional  and  agreeably  commonplace  in  the 
lives  of  happy,  well-to-do  people  seemed  to  enter  the 
room  with  her. 


CHAPTER  XXI 
THE  DEVIL'S  ROSARY 

RUTHVEN  SMITH  summoned  courage  to  ask  for  a 
few  words  alone  with  Knight  that  Easter  morning,  in 
order  to  explain  as  well  as  apologize  for  the  "seeming 
liberty  he  had  taken."  By  dint  of  stammering,  and 
punctuating  his  sentences  with  short,  dry  coughs,  he 
made  "a  clean  breast,"  as  he  called  it,  of  the  "whole 
business." 

He  had  come  to  Valley  House,  he  confessed,  be- 
cause of  an  anonymous  letter,  written  apparently  by 
a  person  of  education,  to  inform  him  that  the  Mal- 
indore  diamond  had  come  into  the  possession  of  the 
Nelson  Smiths.  Whether  they  were  aware  of  its 
identity,  the  writer  was  not  sure;  but  in  any  case 
their  ownership  of  the  jewel  was  kept  secret. 

Having  got  so  far  in  his  story,  Ruthven  Smith  de- 
cided that  the  easiest  way  of  finishing  it  would  be  to 
produce  the  letter.  He  did  so  (a  typewritten  sheet 
of  plain  creamy  paper,  in  an  envelope  post-marked 
"West  Hampstead"),  and  simplified  things  for  him- 
self by  pointing  to  the  last  sentence. 

Mrs.  Nelson  Smith  always  wears  a  thin  gold  chain  round  her 
neck,  which  she  lets  drop  to  her  shoulders  for  evening  dress. 
What  precious  thing  which  has  to  be  hidden  hangs  on  that 
chain?  Mr.  Ruthven  Smith  is  advised  to  find  out. 

273 


274  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

"I  see  now,"  the  unfortunate  man  excused  him- 
self, "that  someone  has  been  taking  advantage 
of  my  anxiety  about  the  losses  of  my  firm  to  play  a 
cruel  practical  joke  on  me.  I  can't  help  thinking,  at 
the  same  time,  that  the  person  must  have  had  a 
grudge  against  you  and  your  wife  also." 

"Or  else  a  desire  to  make  mischief  between  you 
and  us,"  was  Knight's  calm  suggestion. 

Ruthven  Smith  caught  it  up,  eagerly.  "  Ah,  that 
possibility  hadn't  occurred  to  me." 

"  I  suppose  we  all  have  enemies."  Knight  pursued 
the  subject  without  excitement.  "The  writer  prob- 
ably wished  to  put  the  idea  in  your  head  that  I  had 
deliberately  bought  an  historic  diamond  which  I 
knew  to  be  stolen." 

"But  that  would  have  been  ridiculous!"  exclaimed 
the  jewel  expert,  and  felt  sincere  in  making  his  pro- 
test. 

Nevertheless,  he  had  glanced  at  Annesley's  face 
while  talking  of  the  Malindore  diamond  to  Lady 
Cartwright.  It  had  been  on  the  edge  of  his  mind 
that,  if  she  looked  self-conscious,  it  would  be  a  point 
against  her  and  her  husband.  Also  he  had  deter- 
mined to  make  his  daring  attempt  at  discovery  be- 
fore she  had  time  to  get  rid  of  the  diamond  if  she 
were  hiding  it.  Now,  however,  in  the  light  of  her 
shining  innocence,  he  had  almost  forgotten  that  he 
had  suspected  an  underhand  design  on  her  part. 

He  asked  Nelson  Smith  if  he  could  think  of  any 
one,  man  or  woman,  among  his  acquaintances  cap- 
able of  writing  the  anonymous  letter.  Nelson  Smith 


THE  DEVIL'S  ROSARY  275 

replied  that  his  brain  was  a  blank,  and  that  he  hardly 
thought  it  worth  while  to  follow  the  matter  up,  unless 
Ruthven  Smith  wished  to  do  so.  In  that  case  they 
might  put  the  affair  in  the  hands  of  the  police. 

But  the  elder  man  was  of  the  younger's  opinion. 
He  had  made  a  fool  of  himself,  and  was  ashamed  that 
he  had  attached  importance  to  an  unsigned  com- 
munication. All  he  desired  was  to  let  the  unpleasant 
business  drop. 

This  being  settled,  Knight,  in  whose  hand  was  the 
typewritten  letter,  tossed  the  thing  into  the  fireplace 
of  the  library,  where  the  two  had  been  talking. 
When  he  and  Ruthven  Smith  had  shaken  hands  and 
agreed  to  forget  the  whole  incident  the  latter  was  glad 
to  escape  from  the  interview.  He  went  to  his  room 
and  lay  down,  to  soothe  his  nerves  and  think  of  an 
excuse  to  return  to  London  early  on  Monday  morning. 

As  soon  as  his  meagre  back  was  turned  Knight 
stooped  and  retrieved  the  letter  in  its  envelope,  un- 
scorched,  from  the  fireplace.  There  was  nothing 
about  it — not  even  a  tell-tale  perfume — to  give  any 
clue  to  the  writer. 

Nevertheless,  Knight  considered  it  of  value.  He 
intended  to  use  it  as  a  bluff  to  frighten  the  Countess 
de  Santiago,  for  only  through  her  own  fear  could  he 
prove  her  treachery. 

Most  of  the  guests  at  Valley  House  went  to  church, 
to  give  thanks  for  the  fairy-like  Easter  eggs  they  had 
received.  Annesley  had  a  headache,  however,  and 
no  one  was  surprised  that  her  husband  should  choose 
to  stop  at  home  to  look  after  her. 


276  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

His  adoring  devotion  for  the  girl  was  no  secret. 
People  laughed  at  it,  but  admired  it,  too,  and  some 
women  envied  Annesley.  They  imagined  him  spend- 
ing the  morning  with  his  wife,  but  as  a  matter  of  fact 
he  did  not  go  near  her.  He  feared  to  speak  lest  she 
might  change  her  decision  and  refuse  to  travel  to 
America  with  him. 

His  one  hope — a  desperate  hope — lay  in  her 
going.  He  decided  not  to  see  her  alone  again  until 
Monday  evening,  after  the  arrival  of  the  cable  from 
America. 

In  order  to  insure  the  coming  of  this  message,  and 
to  make  it  realistic,  he  motored  into  Torquay  and 
sent  a  long  telegram,  partly  in  cipher.  Returning,  he 
had  a  conversation  with  Charrington,  the  butler,  and 
Char,  the  chauffeur,  a  conversation  which  left  the 
brothers  grave  and  subdued.  Later  Char  went  off 
in  the  car  again,  though  it  poured  with  rain,  and  was 
gone  until  late  at  night. 

Between  twelve  and  one  o'clock  Knight,  strolling 
toward  the  garage,  heard  the  automobile  return,  and 
stopped  in  the  blaze  of  the  acetylene  for  the  motor 
to  slow  down. 

"4,s  it  all  right?  "  he  inquired. 

"It's  all  right,"  Char  answered,  somewhat  sullenly, 
yet  with  a  certain  reluctant  respect.  "Nothing  will 
happen  here  Monday  night." 

"Good!"  his  master  answered,  and  smiled  at  the 
thought  of  Madalena's  malicious  prophecy  which 
would  not  be  fulfilled.  It  was  not  a  pleasant  smile, 
yet,  as  he  had  said  to  Annesley,  he  planned  no  revenge 


THE  DEVIL'S  ROSARY  277 

against  the  tigress — the  woman  whose  claws  had 
ripped  his  heart  open. 

Tigress  or  no,  she  was  a  woman,  and  he  knew 
that,  as  far  as  she  was  capable  of  caring,  she  had 
cared  for  him. 

Perhaps  it  had  been  partly  his  fault.  She  was 
handsome,  and  had  been  years  younger  when  he  had 
met  her  first.  She  was  married  then  to  an  old  man, 
jealous  and  suspicious,  knowing  that  his  money  had 
won  the  beautiful  wild  creature  for  him.  It  was  at 
Buenos  Aires,  and  the  husband  had  found  Madalena 
out  in  an  intrigue;  partly  political,  partly  mercenary, 
and  partly  passionate.  He  had  turned  her  from  his 
house  without  a  penny,  and  Knight — not  personally 
concerned  in  the  intrigue,  but  interested — had  been 
flush  enough  at  the  time  to  lend  her  a  thousand  dol- 
lars, enough  to  go  away  with.  It  had  been  called  a 
loan,  but  he  had  not  expected  to  get  the  money  back, 
and  never  did  get  it. 

In  California  she  had  set  herself  up  as  a  palmist  and 
had  become  successful,  a  success  she  duplicated  in  New 
York;  and  she  had  gladly  made  herself  useful  in  many 
ways  to  "Don"  and  those  with  whom  he  "worked." 

One  way  was  to  find  out  the  number  and  worth  of 
her  rich  clients'  jewels,  and  where  they  were  kept. 
Through  her  crystal  gazing  she  was  able  to  conjure 
women's  secrets  without  their  realizing  that  they,  not 
she,  gave  them  to  the  light.  And  aboard  the  Mon- 
archic was  not  by  any  means  the  first  time  that 
Madalena  had  been  invaluable  in  diverting  suspicion 
by  throwing  it  upon  the  wrong  track. 


278  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

Knight  had  consulted  her,  praised  her,  and 
flattered  her  from  tune  to  time.  Now  he  told  himself 
that  he  was  paying  for  his  thoughtlessness.  He 
had  taken  Madalena  for  granted,  regarding  her 
as  a  machine  rather  than  a  woman;  and  though  he 
owed  to  her  the  loss  of  his  happiness,  that  happiness 
had  been  undeserved  and,  as  he  expressed  it  to  him- 
self, walking  the  wet  paths  at  midnight,  he  had 
" stood  to  lose  it  anyhow.'* 

He  would  frighten  Madalena  so  that  she  would 
never  dare  to  try  her  tricks  again,  and  he  would  let 
her  understand  that  because  of  what  she  had  done 
their  partnership  had  come  to  an  end  once  and  for- 
ever. Otherwise  she  should  feel  herself  safe  from 
him. 

Bad  he  might  be,  and  was,  as  he  knew;  but  he 
didn't  think  it  was  in  his  make-up,  somehow,  to 
strike  a  woman. 

He  did  not  go  back  to  the  house,  after  his  short 
talk  with  Char,  until  after  he  had  heard  the  stable 
clock  strike  four.  It  was  easier  to  think  and  see 
things  clearly  out  of  doors  than  in  his  room  adjoining 
Annesley's — that  closed  room,  forbidden  to  him 
now,  where  she  was  perhaps  crying,  and  surely  hating 
him.  As  for  the  long  nightmare  day  he  had  lived 
through,  it  had  been  too  full  for  much  deliberate 
thinking;  and  he  wanted  to  plan  for  the  future:  how 
to  begin  again,  and  how  to  keep  the  woman  who  had 
come  to  mean  more  for  him  than  anything  else  had 
ever  meant — more,  he  knew,  than  anything  else 
could  mean. 


THE  DEVIL'S  ROSARY  279 

He  was  not  sure  whether  the  love  in  his  heart  was  a 
punishment  or  a  blessing,  but  there  it  was.  It  had 
come  to  stay. 

"This  woman  to  this  man!" 

He  found  himself  repeating  the  words  he  remem- 
bered best  in  the  marriage  service,  not  bitterly  as  he 
had  repeated  them  to  Annesley,  but  yearningly, 
clingingly,  groping  after  some  promise  of  hope  hi 
them. 

"She  gave  herself  to  me.  I'm  the  same  man  she 
loved,  after  all,  though  she  says  I'm  not,"  he  told 
himself.  "God!  What's  the  good  of  being  a  man 
at  all,  if  I  can't  get  her  back?  " 

As  he  wandered  through  one  winter-saddened 
garden  after  another — the  Italian  garden,  the  Dutch 
garden,  the  rose  garden — he  searched  his  soul,  asking 
it  how  much  more  he  should  have  to  tell  the  girl 
about  his  past.  In  a  kind  of  desperate  resignation  he 
persuaded  himself  that  there  was  nothing  he  would 
not  be  willing  to  tell  her  now,  if  it  were  for  her  good, 
and  if  she  wished  to  hear. 

But  something  within  him  said  that  she  would  wish 
to  hear  no  more.  She  would  deign  to  put  no  ques- 
tions to  him,  even  if  she  felt  curiosity.  She  would 
doubtless  refuse  to  listen  if  he  volunteered  a  further 
confession.  He  was  instinctively  sure  of  his  ground 
there;  and  in  his  bitterness  of  spirit  there  was  a  faint 
gleam  of  comfort ;  certain  details  of  his  degradation  (sh« 
would  think  it  that)  might  be  kept  decently  hidden. 

For  instance,  he  would  not  have  to  tell  her  how,  as 
a  boy  in  Chicago,  he  had  learned  to  make  strange  use 


280  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

of  those  clever,  nervous  hands  of  his,  which  she  had 
lovingly  praised  as  "sensitive  and  artistic."  He 
could  almost  see  the  girl  shudder  and  grow  pale  at 
hearing  how  proud  he  had  been  at  sixteen  of  being 
admitted  to  friendship  with  a  "swell  mobsman" 
fascinating  as  any  "Raffles"  of  fiction;  how  it  had 
amused  the  fellow  to  teach  him  a  deft  and  delicate 
touch,  beginning  his  lessons  with  the  game  of  jack- 
straws,  in  which  he  was  given  prizes  if  he  could 
separate  the  whole  stack,  one  straw  from  another, 
without  disturbing  the  balance  of  the  pile. 

It  would  gain  him  no  credit  in  Annesley's  eyes  if  he 
should  assure  her  that,  though  he  knew  how  to  pick 
pockets — none  better — he  had  somehow  never  cared 
to  put  his  skill  in  practice,  but  had  always  preferred 
leaving  that  part  of  the  industry  to  others.  No  ex- 
cuse could  help  him  with  her,  and  he  was  glad  she 
need  not  know  all  the  ways  in  which  he  had  served 
the  eccentric  friend  and  employer  with  whose  inter- 
ests he  had  been  associated  more  or  less  since  his 
twenty-fifth  year. 

How  disgusting  would  seem  to  Anita  the  inside 
history  of  the  Monarchic  episode,  upon  which  he  had 
rather  prided  himself  until  love  for  her  had  begun 
making  subtle  changes  in  his  view  of  life.  He  and 
old  Paul  Van  Vreck  had  laughed  together  at  the 
patent  lock  on  which  the  agent  depended — a  lock 
invented  by  the  retired  member  of  the  firm  himself, 
and  followed  by  a  second  invention,  even  more 
clever:  a  little  instrument  designed  to  open  a  door  in 
spite  of  it. 


THE  DEVIL'S  ROSARY  281 

There  had  been  the  drug,  too,  which  leaving  no 
odour  behind,  had  the  same  effect  as  chloroform,  and 
"took"  even  more  quickly.  Paul  Van  Vreck  had 
read  of  certain  experiments  made  by  a  professor  of 
chemistry  in  Tours,  had  gone  to  France  to  see  the 
man,  had  bought  the  formula,  which  had  not  yet 
proved  itself  entirely  successful;  had  added  an  in- 
gredient on  his  own  account,  and  triumphed. 

These  parts  of  the  complicated  and  well-fitting 
scheme  had  seemed  deliciously  amusing  to  Knight  in 
those  days;  that  Van  Vreck  should  use  his  secret  skill 
against  his  own  brothers  and  nephews  in  the  business 
he  had  made;  that  the  great  expert  should  add  to  his 
fortune  by  stealing  from  his  own  firm,  or  rather,  from 
the  great  insurance  company  who  would  repay  their 
losses;  that  in  such  ways,  with  such  money,  he  could 
add  treasures  to  his  famous  collection,  practically  at 
no  expense  to  himself,  and  have  besides  the  exquisite 
pleasure  of  laughing  in  his  sleeve  at  the  world. 

It  had  all  added  zest  to  the  work.  And  Knight 
had  been  pleased  with  some  small  inventions  of  his 
own,  praised  by  Van  Vreck:  a  smart  hiding-place  in 
the  heel  of  a  boot,  almost  impossible  to  detect,  and 
another  equally  convenient  and  invisible  in  the  jet 
standard  of  Madalena  de  Santiago's  famous  crystal. 
He  had  enjoyed  the  excitement  when  he  and  Mada- 
lena and  their  two  assistants,  among  the  other 
passengers  on  board  ship,  had  consented  to  be 
searched  for  the  missing  jewels.  And  he  had  laughed 
sneeringly  at  the  credulity  of  those  who  believed  in 
Madalena's  trumped-up  vision  "of  the  small  fair 


282  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

man,"  the  lighted  life-preserver  dropped  into  the  sea 
at  night,  and  the  yacht  which  sent  out  a  boat  to  pick 
it  up. 

For  that  other  vision  her  crystal  had  supplied  after 
the  robbery  in  Portman  Square  he  was  not  respon- 
sible; but  it  was  he  who  had  suggested  the  "pictures" 
for  her  to  see  on  shipboard. 

He  hated  the  recollection  now.  Even  Annesley 
could  not  think  it  more  contemptible  than  he 
did. 

Still  worse  was  the  remembrance  of  Mrs.  Ells- 
worth's latchkey,  the  keeping  of  which  had  been 
accidental  at  first.  Afterward  he  had  gaily  re- 
garded its  possession  as  a  gift  from  Providence.  The 
way  to  Ruthven  Smith's  house  was  made  clear  by  it; 
and  better  still,  through  it  the  dragon  could  be 
punished  for  years  of  cruelty  to  the  captive  princess. 
"Char"  had  been  the  man  to  whom  fell  the  honour 
of  bestowing  the  punishment,  and  leaving  a  missive 
from  the  princess's  rescuer. 

Knight  writhed  in  spirit  as  he  wondered  whether 
the  princess  guessed  the  fate  of  the  key. 

He  wondered  also  if  she  asked  herself  what  part  he 
had  had  in  the  disappearance  of  the  Valley  House 
heirlooms.  She  would  loathe  him  more  intensely,  if 
possible,  could  she  know  how  her  presence  with  him 
on  that  public  "show  day"  had  helped  to  cloak  with 
respectability  his  secret  mission.  How  mean  he  had 
been  in  distracting  her  attention  from  the  two 
Fragonards  and  from  the  cabinets  containing  the 
miniatures  and  the  carved  Chinese  gods  of  jade  while 


THE  DEVIL'S  ROSARY  283 

he  "marked"  the  prizes  for  the  eyes  of  his  two  as- 
sistants. How  unsuspicious  and  happy  the  girl  had 
been,  trusting  him  utterly,  while  behind  her  back  he 
manipulated  the  diamond — the  useful  diamond — he 
always  carried  for  such  purposes! 

Even  then  he  had  the  grace  to  be  ashamed  of  himself 
for  disloyalty,  though  not  for  dishonesty,  as  deftly 
the  diamond  cut  the  glass  faces  of  the  cabinets 
directly  opposite  the  miniatures  and  the  Buddha 
meant  to  enrich  Paul  Van  Vreck's  secret  collection. 
He  had  been  glad  to  hurry  his  wife  away,  and  let  the 
eager  pah*  of  "tourists"  crowding  on  his  heels  finish 
the  work  he  had  begun. 

It  seemed  to  Knight,  as  his  thoughts  travelled 
heavily  along  the  past,  that  no  other  woman  but 
Annesley  Grayle,  this  fragile  white  rose  that  had 
freely  given  its  sweetness,  could  have  turned  him 
from  the  vow  of  vengeance  for  his  parents'  fate 
which  as  a  boy  he  had  sworn  against  the  world. 
Day  by  day,  week  by  week,  month  by  month,  the 
fragrance  of  the  white  rose  had  so  changed  him  that 
looking  back  at  himself,  he  saw  a  stranger. 

Had  it  not  been  for  certain  engagements  made 
with  Paul  Van  Vreck  and  others — engagements 
which  had  to  be  kept  because  there  is  honour  among 
thieves — that  "den"  of  his  in  Portman  Square  would 
long  ago  have  been  shut  to  his  "at  home"  day 
visitors.  No  more  "business"  would  have  been 
done  on  those  or  any  premises;  this  party  of  Easter 
guests  would  not  have  been  invited  to  Valley  House; 
and  the  Malindore  diamond,  sleeping  away  its  secret 


284  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

on  Annesley's  breast,  would  still  be  guarding  his 
secret,  too. 

While  the  others  were  at  church  she  had  sent  him 
the  diamond  by  Parker — the  blue  diamond,  and  the 
rose  sapphire;  her  engagement  ring  also;  the  pearls  he 
had  given  her  the  day  before  their  marriage,  and  all 
his  other  gifts  (except  the  wedding  ring),  which  had 
not  been  stolen  on  the  night  when  the  Annesley- 
Setons'  silver  went. 

It  had  been  a  blow  to  open  the  box  brought  to  his 
room  by  the  maid  without  a  word  of  explanation — no 
lighter  because  it  was  deserved.  It  was  only  less 
severe  than  had  the  wedding  ring  been  with  the  rest. 

And  perhaps,  Knight  reflected,  it  would  have  been 
there  had  Annesley  known  of  another  trick  played 
upon  her:  those  cleverly  "reconstructed"  pearls, 
gleaming  ropes  of  them,  and  paste  diamonds  added  to 
her  collection  only  for  the  purpose  of  disappearing  in 
the  "  burglary."  A  hateful  trick,  but  he  had  believed 
it  necessary  at  the  time,  while  despising  it. 

Well,  he  was  punished  for  everything  at  last — 
everything  vile  he  had  done  and  thought  in  his  whole 
life;  even  those  things  the  White  Rose  did  not  know! 

He  was  young  still,  but  he  felt  old — old  in  sin  and 
old  in  hopelessness;  for  youth  cannot  exist  in  a  heart 
deprived  of  hope.  It  seemed  to  Knight  that  his  heart 
had  been  deprived  of  hope  for  years,  yet  suddenly 
he  recalled  the  fact  that  a  few  moments  before — up 
to  the  time  when  he  had  begun  counting  his  sins  one 
by  one,  like  the  devil's  rosary — he  had  been  thinking 
with  something  akin  to  hope  of  the  future. 


THE  DEVIL'S  ROSARY  285 

"What  if,  after  all "  he  began  to  ask  himself. 

But  stumbling  unseeingly  from  avenue  to  path,  and 
path  to  lawn,  he  had  wandered  near  the  house. 

By  what  seemed  to  him  a  strange  coincidence  he 
had  come  to  a  standstill  almost  on  the  spot  where  he 
had  stood  last  night  when  Annesley,  at  her  window, 
called  him  in. 

She  had  loved  him  then !  She  had  called  him  in  to 
be  forgiven.  But  her  forgiveness,  divine  as  it  was, 
white  and  wide-winged  as  the  flight  of  a  dove — had 
not  been  wide  enough  to  cover  his  guilt. 

What  a  ghastly  difference  between  last  night  and 
this!  It  was  right  that  the  face  of  the  moon,  so 
bright  then,  should  be  veiled  with  ragged  black 
clouds.  And  yet,  what  if 

The  man's  eyes  strained  through  the  darkness  of 
that  dark  hour  before  the  dawn. 

"If  her  window  is  uncurtained,  I'll  take  it  as  a 
good  omen,"  he  said. 

Noiselessly  his  feet  trod  the  short,  wet  grass,  going 
nearer  to  the  shadowed  loggia  to  make  sure. 

The  curtains  were  drawn  closely,  and  the  window 
was  shut. 


CHAPTER  XXII 
DESTINY  AND  THE  WALDOS 

AFTER  the  cablegram  came,  calling  them  to 
America,  it  took  the  Nelson  Smiths  an  incredibly 
short  time  to  wind  up  their  affairs  and  to  break  the 
ties — many  and  intricate  as  the  clinging  tendrils  of  a 
vine — which  attached  them  to  England. 

Of  course,  as  their  friends  pointed  out,  it  wasn't  as 
if  they  had  had  a  home  of  their  own.  Luckily  for 
them — unluckily  for  the  Annesley-Setons^— they  had 
taken  the  Portman  Square  house  only  month  by 
month.  And  in  Devonshire  they  had  been  but  pay- 
ing— dearly  paying! — guests,  as  the  world  surmised. 

Everyone  protested  that  they  would  be  dreadfully 
missed,  and  begged  to  know  their  plans,  and  whether 
Mr.  Nelson  Smith's  business  on  the  other  side  (some- 
thing to  do  with  mines,  wasn't  it?)  would  not  be 
finished,  so  that  they  might  come  back  in  time  for 
Henley  and  Cowes? 

But  the  American  millionaire's  answers  were 
vague.  He  couldn't  tell.  He  could  only  hope. 
And  his  manner,  unflatteringly,  was  indifferent. 
It  was  Mrs.  Nelson  Smith  who  seemed  depressed; 
"a  changed  girl,"  Constance  said,  "from  the  moment 
that  cable  message  arrived  at  Valley  House." 

286 


Connie  thought,  and  mentioned  her  thought  to 
others:  very  likely  the  truth  was  that  Nelson  Smith 
had  lost  money.  In  contradiction  to  this  theory  he 
was  known  to  have  given  generously  to  charities 
just  before  starting;  not  those  queer,  new-fangled 
societies  he  had  tried  to  bolster  up  while  he  was  in 
London,  but  hospitals  and  orphan  asylums,  and 
organizations  of  that  sort  which  opened  their  mouths 
wide. 

Still,  nobody  could  say  for  a  certainty  how  much  he 
gave,  and  it  was  argued  that  Lady  Annesley-Seton 
was  sure  to  know  more  than  most  people  about 
Nelson  Smith's  private  affairs.  The  story  of  possible 
money  losses  ran  about  and  grew  rapidly,  healing 
regrets  for  his  absence.  Soon  the  pair  dropped  out  of 
their  late  friends'  conversation  as  a  subject  of  living 
interest. 

It  was  much  the  same  with  the  Countess  de 
Santiago.  Whether  her  plans  were  affected  by  those 
of  the  Nelson  Smiths,  nobody  knew;  and  she  said 
that  they  were  not.  But  about  the  time  that  their 
departure  for  America  was  decided  upon,  Madalena 
had  a  sharp  illness.  It  was,  she  wrote  Constance 
(who  made  inquiries,  fearing  something  contagious), 
an  unusual  form  of  neuralgia,  from  which  she  had 
suffered  before.  The  only  doctor  who  had  ever  been 
able  to  relieve  her  pain  lived  in  San  Francisco,  and 
in  San  Francisco  she  must  seek  him. 

She  had  at  first  an  idea  of  sailing  on  the  same  ship 
with  the  Nelson  Smiths;  but  for  a  reason  which  she 
did  not  explain,  she  changed  her  mind  the  day  after 


288  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

making  it  up,  and  engaged  a  cabin  on  a  boat  which 
started  a  week  earlier. 

She  was  missed,  also,  for  a  while.  But  then  it  was 
remembered  that  the  crystal  visions  had  been  mys- 
teriously more  favourable  for  those  who  included  the 
Countess  in  their  nicest  parties  than  for  those  who 
asked  her  to  their  second  best.  Little  malicious  digs 
which  she  had  given  were  recalled,  and  those  who  had 
thought  her  wonderful  when  in  their  midst  began  to 
doubt  her  powers. 

"Rather  theatrical,  don't  you  think?"  said  the 
Duchess  of  Peebles.  "It's  more  satisfactory  to  go  to 
a  woman  you  can  pay  with  money  and  not  invita- 
tions." 

So  Madalena  was  not  mourned  for  long;  and  the 
Annesley-Setons  were  fortunate  enough  to  replace 
their  lost  American  millionaire  with  one  from 
Australia.  He  was  old,  and  his  wife  was  fat;  but 
you  can't  have  everything. 

The  Nelson  Smiths  took  passage  not  on  one  of  the 
great  floating  palaces  patronized  by  millionaires,  but 
on  an  obscure,  cheap  little  ship,  which  bore  out  the 
gossip  about  the  man's  losses.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
however,  they  chose  that  way  of  going  by  Annesley's 
desire.  It  would  have  been  Knight's  way  to  vanish 
in  a  blaze  of  glory,  as  the  setting  sun  plunges  behind 
the  horizon  after  a  gorgeous  day. 

"I  want  to  go  on  a  ship,"  she  said,  "which  none  of 
the  people  we  know  have  ever  heard  of.  I  couldn't 
bear  to  come  across  any  one  I  ever  met  before." 


DESTINY  AND  THE  WALDOS        289 

But,  as  it  turned  out,  she  was  forced  to  bear  what 
she  had  thought  unbearable.  At  the  top  of  the  gang- 
way as  she  went  on  board,  a  slightly  shrill  voice  called 
out,  "Why,  how  do  you  do!  Who  would  ever  have 
thought  of  meeting  you  two  expensive  creatures  on 
board  this  tub?" 

With  a  sinking  heart  Annesley  recognized  a  Mrs. 
Waldo,  an  American  woman  (there  was  a  husband  in 
attendance)  whom  she  and  Knight  had  met  during 
their  honeymoon  at  the  Knowle  Hotel.  The  pair  had 
been  so  friendly  and  kind  that  the  Nelson  Smiths  had 
asked  them  to  Portman  Square  more  than  once  dur- 
ing the  three  gay  months  which  followed. 

But  it  was  cruel,  thought  Annesley,  that  fate 
should  bring  them  together  again  now,  just  when  she 
and  the  man  she  had  married  were  at  the  parting  of 
the  ways. 

Little  had  the  girl  dreamed  when  she  first  con- 
ceived a  mild  fancy  for  the  pretty,  smiling  woman 
and  her  silent,  humorous  husband,  that  the  pair 
were  destined  to  decide  her  future — decide  it  in  a  way 
precisely  opposite  to  that  in  which  she  had  decided 
it  herself.  But  so  it  was  to  be. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Waldo  were  returning  to  New  YorK 
in  its  waning  season  because  the  decorating  of  a 
house  they  had  bought  was  just  completed.  They 
begged  Annesley  and  Knight  to  be  their  first  visitors, 
and  the  invitation  was  given  so  unexpectedly  that 
Annesley,  taken  unawares,  found  herself  at  a  loss. 

"But  I — I  mean  my  husband — is  going  straight  to 
Texas,"  she  stammered. 


290  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

"All  the  more  reason,  if  he  has  to  run  off  so  far  on 
business,  and  leaves  you  in  New  York,  that  you  should 
stay  with  us,  instead  of  in  a  hotel,"  argued  Mrs. 
Waldo. 

Annesley  blushed,  and  for  the  first  time  since 
Easter  eve  looked  for  help  to  Knight.  But  he  was 
silent,  and  she  blundered  on,  not  daring  to  pause  lest 
the  firm-willed  little  lady  should  seal  her  to  a  promise 
in  spite  of  herself. 

"You're  very  kind,  and  it  would  be  delightful," 
she  hurried  along,  "but  I  didn't  mean  that  I  was  to 
stop  in  New  York.  I " 

"Oh,  you  are  going  together!"  Mrs.  Waldo  caught 
her  up.  "I  didn't  understand.  Well,  I'm  sorry  for 
our  sakes.  But  couldn't  you  spare  us  two  or  three 
days  before  you  start?  " 

"I — am  afraid  we  must  wait  for  another  time," 
said  Annesley.  "My  husband  has  business.  He 
can't  waste  a  day " 

"Surely  you  won't  turn  your  back  on  New  York  the 
day  you  arrive,  the  first  time  you've  ever  seen  it!" 
cried  the  New  York  woman.  "Why,  it's  sacrilege! 
You  must  stay  with  us  one  night.  If  you  could  see 
the  darling  new  room  we'll  put  you  in :  old  rose  and 
pearl  gray,  and  Cupids  holding  up  the  bed  curtains! " 

In  desperation  the  girl  stuck  to  her  point,  no 
longer  daring  to  look  at  Knight. 

"Indeed  we  mustn't  stay,  even  for  one  night.  If 
there's  a  train  the  same  afternoon " 

"There's  a  lovely  train,"  Mrs.  Waldo  admitted, 
unable  to  resist  praising  the  American  railway 


DESTINY  AND  THE  WALDOS        291 

system.  "We  call  it  the  'Limited.'  You  can  have 
a  beautiful  stateroom,  and  run  right  through  to 
Chicago  without  changing.  If  they  must  go,  we'll 
see  them  off,  won't  we,  Steve?"  with  a  glance  for  the 
silent  husband,  "and  bring  them  books  and  choco- 
lates and  flowers?" 

What  was  left  for  Annesley  to  say?  Short  of  in- 
forming the  kindly  couple  that  they  were  not  wanted 
and  had  better  mind  their  own  business,  and  refusing 
to  decide  upon  a  train,  she  could  do  nothing  except 
thank  Mrs.  Waldo. 

"Perhaps,"  she  thought,  "they  will  forget,  and 
things  will  settle  themselves  between  now  and  then. 
Or  else  I  shall  patch  up  some  excuse." 

When  the  invitation  was  given,  the  Minnewanda 
was  still  four  days  distant  from  New  York;  but  the 
four  days,  though  seeming  long,  were  not  long  enough 
to  produce  the  prayed-for  inspiration.  Mrs.  Waldo 
referred  to  the  journey  whenever  she  saw  Annesley, 
so  there  was  no  hope  of  her  scheme  being  forgotten; 
and  the  nearer  loomed  the  new  world,  the  more  clearly 
the  girl  was  forced  to  see  the  thing  to  which  a  few 
hasty  words  had  committed  her. 

She  and  Knight  had  staterooms  adjoining,  with  a 
door  between.  That  was  to  save  appearances,  and 
it  was  no  one's  business  that  the  door  was  never 
opened.  In  reality,  they  might  as  well  have  had  the 
length  of  the  ship  between  their  cabins. 

Annesley  kept  to  her  own  quarters  as  constantly  as 
her  jangled  nerves  would  allow;  but  the  sea  was  pro- 
vokingly  smooth,  and  she  proved  to  be  a  good  sailor. 


292  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

She  felt  as  if  she  might  become  hysterical,  and  perhaps 
do  something  foolish,  if  she  tried  the  experiment  of 
shutting  herself  up  from  morning  to  night.  She 
paced  the  deck,  therefore,  and  was  dimly  grateful  to 
Knight  because  he  seemed  always  to  be  in  the 
smoking  room  when  she  took  her  walks. 

At  meals,  however,  unless  she  ate  in  her  state- 
room, they  could  not  avoid  each  other;  and  again  she 
felt  cause  for  gratitude  because  Knight  had  accepted 
the  Waldos'  suggestion  that  they  should  take  a  table 
for  four.  In  spite  of  the  Waldos'  unwelcome  atten- 
tions, their  society  was  preferable — infinitely  prefer- 
able— to  a  duet  with  Knight. 

They  talked  on  such  occasions;  and  the  sharpest- 
eared  scandal  mongers  could  have  guessed  at  nothing 
strange  from  their  manner.  But,  save  at  these 
luncheons  and  these  dinners,  they  scarcely  spoke  to 
each  other. 

Knight  took  his  cue  from  Annesley.  After  the 
night  when  he  had  knelt  at  her  feet  and  begged  her 
forgiveness  he  had  never  forced  himself  upon  his 
wife.  He  seemed  to  have  a  dread  of  being  thought 
an  intruder,  and  even  withdrew  his  eyes  guiltily  if 
the  girl  caught  him  looking  at  her  with  the  old  wistful 
gaze  to  whose  mystery  she  had  now  a  tragic  clue. 

Annesley  hoped  that,  before  they  landed,  Knight 
might  make  some  opportunity  to  discuss  ways  and 
means  of  getting  out  of  the  dilemma  created  by  the 
Waldos.  But  he  never  attempted  to  begin  a  con- 
versation with  her,  and  she  put  off  the  evil  moment 
from  day  to  day,  telling  herself  that  there  was  time 


DESTINY  AND  THE  WALDOS         293 

yet,  and  he  had  probably  solved  the  problem — he, 
who  was  a  specialist  in  solving  problems. 

Loving  the  man  no  longer,  her  heart  seeming  to  die 
anew  whenever  she  even  thought  of  him,  there  re- 
mained still  a  ghost  of  her  old  trust;  an  almost 
resentful  confidence  that  he  who  was  so  clever,  so 
hideously  clever,  would  be  capable  of  overcoming  any 
difficulty. 

"I  told  him  that  I'd  go  with  him  on  the  ship,  and 
that  then  we  must  part,"  she  assured  herself,  lying 
awake  at  night,  wondering  feverishly  what  was  to 
happen  in  New  York.  "He  said  we'd  see  about  all 
that  later,  but  he  must  know  by  the  way  I  act  that  I 
haven't  changed  my  mind.  He  will  have  to  get  me 
out  of  the  trouble  about  the  train." 

The  girl,  in  mapping  the  future,  had  thought  of 
herself  as  being  a  governess  for  American  children. 
She  did  not  know  many  things  which  governesses 
ought  to  know,  but  if  the  children  were  small  enough, 
she  did  not  see  why  she  mightn't  do  very  well. 

She  could  sing  and  play  as  nine  girls  out  of  ten 
could.  She  had  been  told  that  she  had  quite  a 
Parisian  accent  in  French;  and  as  for  arithmetic  and 
geography  and  other  alarming  things  which  children 
ought  to  know  and  grown-up  people  forget,  one  could 
teach  them  with  the  proper  books. 

Besides,  she  had  heard  that  Americans  liked  to 
have  English  governesses  for  their  children;  it  was 
considered  "smart." 

She  would  go  to  an  agent,  and  it  ought  to  be  easy  to 
find  a  place  in  the  country  or  suburbs.  It  must  not 


294  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

be  New  York,  for  fear  of  some  chance  meeting  with 
the  Waldos.  But  if  worst  came  to  worst,  and  because 
of  those  everlasting  Waldos  she  had  to  get  into  the 
train  with  Knight,  she  would  get  out  again  at  the 
first  good-sized  place  where  it  stopped.  There 
must  be  agencies  for  governesses  and  companions  in 
every  large  town.  One  would  serve  as  well  as  an- 
other. 

As  for  money,  she  knew  that  she  must  have  some 
to  go  on  with  until  she  could  begin  to  earn.  So  far 
she  had  been  forced  to  let  Knight  pay  her  way,  as  he 
said,  out  of  the  "good "  fund.  Her  coming  with  him 
had  been  for  his  sake,  and  to  spare  him  from  gossip. 
For  herself,  she  was  in  no  mood  to  care  what  people 
said. 

But  now,  in  sailing  to  America  as  his  wife,  she  had 
done  all  that  she  had  ever  promised  to  do.  He  would 
have  to  arrange  things  as  best  he  could. 

Somehow  the  right  time  did  not  come  to  ask  him 
what  he  intended  to  do;  for  at  the  table,  or  if  occa- 
sionally they  were  on  deck  together,  they  were  never 
alone. 

The  ship  docked  late  in  the  morning,  and  Knight 
was  busy  with  the  custom-house  men.  It  was  noon 
when  their  luggage  had  been  examined  and  could  be 
sent  away;  and  the  Waldos,  under  letter  "W,"  were 
released  at  the  same  moment  that  the  Nelson  Smiths, 
under  "S,"  were  able  to  escape. 

"Let's  have  lunch  at  the  dear  old  Waldorf,  our  pet 
place  and  almost  namesake,"  proposed  Mrs.  Waldo. 
"  You  owe  us  that,  after  all  the  times  you  entertained 


DESTINY  AND  THE  WALDOS        295 

us  in  London;  and  you  really  see  New  York  in  the 
restaurant.  You've  nothing  to  do  till  your  train 
goes  this  afternoon,  and  your  husband  can  get  your 
reservations  right  there  in  the  hotel." 

Annesley's  eyes  went  doubtfully  to  Knight's,  and 
met  a  steady  look  which  seemed  to  say  that  he  had 
made  up  his  mind  to  some  course. 

"Very  well,  we  shall  be  delighted,"  she  said,  re- 
signedly. "Shall  we  meet  at  the — Waldorf — is  it? — 
at  luncheon  time?" 

"Oh,  my,  no!"  exclaimed  the  older  woman,  radiant 
in  the  joy  of  home  coming.  "It'll  be  lunch  time  in 
an  hour.  You  must  taxi  up  to  Sixty -first  Street  with 
us,  and  just  glance  at  the  house,  or  we  shall  be  so 
hurt.  Then  we'll  spin  you  down  to  the  hotel  again 
in  no  time.  I  wish  we  could  feed  you  at  home,  but 
nothing  will  be  in  shape  there  till  to-night." 

There  was  still  no  chance  for  Annesley  to  ask 
Knight  the  long-delayed  question.  They  saw  and 
duly  admired  the  Waldos'  house,  and  took  another 
taxi  to  the  hotel,  the  Nelson  Smiths'  luggage  having 
been  "expressed"  to  the  Grand  Central,  to  await 
them.  Steve  Waldo  tried  to  engage  his  favourite 
table,  and  Mrs.  Waldo  suggested  that  it  would  be  a 
good  moment  to  get  the  reservations. 

Again  Annesley's  startled  glance  turned  to  Knight. 
Again  his  eyes  answered  with  decision.  This  time 
there  was  no  longer  any  doubt  in  the  girl's  mind. 
The  WTaldos,  persistent  to  the  last,  would  compel  her 
to  leave  New  York  with  her  husband. 

But  whatever  happened  she  would  part  with  him 


296  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

forever  before  darkness  fell.  "  At  the  first  big  town," 
she  told  herself  once  more. 

They  were  at  the  desired  table,  which  Steve  had 
secured,  when  Knight  rejoined  them,  announcing 
that  he  had  his  tickets. 

**I  hope  you  were  able  to  get  a  nice  stateroom?" 
fussed  Mrs.  Waldo.  "Such  a  long  journey,  and  Mrs. 
Smith's  first  day  in  our  country!" 

"Yes.  Everything  satisfactory,"  said  Knight,  in 
the  calm  way  which  Annesley  had  once  admired. 

Mrs.  Waldo  would  have  asked  more  questions  if  at 
that  moment  her  eyes  had  not  lighted  upon  a  couple 
at  an  adjacent  table. 

tfWellt  of  all  things!"  she  cried,  jumping  up  to 
meet  a  pretty  girl  and  a  spruce  young  man,  who  had 
also  jumped  up.  "George  and  Kitty  Mason! 
What  a  coincidence!" 

There  were  kissings  and  handshakings.  Then  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Mason  were  introduced  to  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Nelson  Smith.  They,  it  seemed,  had  been  married  in 
the  early  winter,  just  as  Knight  and  Annesley  had 
been.  And  to  add  to  the  strangeness  of  the  coin- 
cidence, which  drew  birdlike  exclamations  from  Jean 
Waldo,  George  and  Kitty  were  starting  for  Kansas 
City  that  afternoon.  They  were  going  by  the  same 
train  in  which  the  Nelson  Smiths  would  travel. 

"Why,  you'll  be  together  for  two  days  /"  shrieked 
Jean.  "  For  goodness'  sake,  look  at  your  reservations, 
and  see  if  you're  in  the  same  car!" 

George  Mason  pulled  out  his  tickets.  "We're  in  a 
boudoir  car  all  the  way,"  he  said.  "We  start  in  one 


DESTINY  AND  THE  WALDOS        297 

called  'Elena.'  After  Chicago  we're  in  *Alvarado."! 
Knight  followed  suit,  not  ungraciously,  though 
without  enthusiasm.  Annesley's  heart  was  tapping 
like  a  hammer  in  her  breast.  She  felt  giddy.  There 
was  a  mist  before  her  eyes;  yet  she  saw  clearly  enough 
to  see  that  there  were  two  railway  tickets,  alike  in 
every  way,  even  to  what  seemed  their  extraordinary 
length.  A  flashing  glance  gave  her  the  name  of  the 
last  station,  at  the  end.  It  was  in  Texas. 

And  their  two  staterooms  were  also  hi  "Elena" 
and  "Alvarado." 


CHAPTER  XXIII 
THE  THIN  WALL 

"How  dared  he  buy  a  ticket  for  me  all  the  way  to 
Texas!"  Annesley  asked  herself.  "But  I  might  have 
known  how  it  would  be,"  she  thought.  "Why  ex- 
pect a  man  like  him  to  keep  a  promise?  " 

Yet  she  had  expected  it.  She  constantly  found 
herself  expecting  to  find  truth  and  greatness  in  the 
man  who  was  a  thief — who  had  been  a  thief  for  half 
his  life.  It  was  strange.  But  everything  about  him 
was  strange;  and  stranger  than  the  rest  was  his 
silent  power  over  all  who  came  near  him,  even  over 
herself,  who  knew  now  what  he  was.  It  would  have 
seemed  that  after  his  confession  there  would  be  no 
further  room  for  disappointment  concerning  his 
character;  yet  she  was  disappointed  that  his  "plan," 
on  which  she  had  been  counting,  had  been  nothing 
more  original  than  to  break  his  word  and  "see  what 
she  would  do." 

After  luncheon,  when  the  Waldos  and  Masons 
became  absorbed  for  a  few  minutes  in  talk,  she  turned 
a  look  on  her  husband.  "I  saw  the  tickets,"  she 
said. 

"Did  you?"  he  returned,  pretending — as  she 
thought — not  to  understand. 

298 


THE  THIN  WALL  299 

"You  bought  one  for  me  to  Texas." 

"Of  course.  Did  you  think  I  wouldn't?  That 
would  have  been  poor  economy  in  the  game  we've 
been  playing." 

It  was  her  turn  to  show  that  she  was  puzzled. 
"What  do  you  mean?" 

"You  never  cared  to  talk  things  over.  I  saw  you 
didn't  want  to,  so  I  didn't  press.  And  when  this 
complication  about  the  Waldos  came  up,  I  thought — 
perhaps  I  was  mistaken — that  you — trusted  me  to  do 
the  best  I  could." 

"Yes.  That's  why  I  expected  you  not  to  get  me  a 
ticket  to  Texas." 

"How  far  did  you  expect  me  to  get  it?" 

"I— don't  know." 

"That's  just  it.  Neither  did  I  know.  I  got  the 
whole  ticket,  so  you  might  choose  your  stopping- 
place." 

"Oh!"  Annesley  was  ashamed,  though  she  was 
sure  she  had  no  need  to  be.  "  That  was  why ! " 

"That  was  why.  Things  being  as  they  are,  it  was 
well  I  had  your  ticket  to  show  with  mine,  wasn't  it?'* 

' '  I — suppose  so .     But — what  am  I  to  do  ?  " 

"We'll  talk  of  that  in  the  train.  There  won't  be 
time  before,  because  of  these  people,  and  because  I 
must  leave  you  for  two  hours  before  the  train 
goes." 

"Leave  me!"  Annesley  echoed  the  words  blankly, 
then  hoped  that  he  had  not  noticed  the  dismay  in 
her  tone. 

"You  will  be  all  right  with  the  Waldos  and  their 


300  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

friends.  I'll  explain  to  them.  There's  no  time  to 
lose.  I  must  go  off  at  once." 

Annesley  was  pricked  with  curiosity  to  know  why 
and  where  he  must  go.  She  would  not  ask.  But 
while  he  was  away  and  she  was  being  whirled  through 
the  park  and  along  Riverside  Drive  at  lightning 
speed,  "to  see  New  York  in  a  hurry,"  her  thoughts 
were  with  her  husband,  imagining  fantastic  things. 

"My  mind  is  like  a  ghost,"  she  thought,  bitterly, 
"haunting  what  once  it  loved.  It  seems  doomed  to 
follow  wherever  he  goes,  whatever  he  does.  But  it 
will  be  different  when  we're  parted.  I  shall  escape 
in  soul  and  body.  I  shall  have  my  own  life  to  live." 

"That  wonderful  Italian  house,"  Mrs.  Waldo  was 
saying,  as  the  taxi  slowed  down  for  one  of  her  lectures, 
"is  Paul  Van  Vreck's  New  York  home.  They  say 
it's  a  museum  from  garret  to  cellar  (not  that  there  is 
a  garret!),  and  I  believe  it's  a  copy  of  some  palazzo  in 
Venice.  It's  shut  up  now;  perhaps  he's  in  Florida, 
or  Egypt,  where  he — but  look,  somebody's  coming 
out — why,  Mrs.  Nelson  Smith,  it's  your  husband! 
Shall  we  stop " 

"No,  let's  drive  on,"  Annesley  begged,  anxiously. 
"My  husband  knows  Mr.  Van  Vreck.  They  have 
business  together.  He  won't  want  us." 

The  taxi  was  allowed  to  go  on  to  the  next  place  of 
interest.  Annesley  had  flung  herself  back  in  the 
seat,  but  she  was  not  sure  that  Knight  hadn't  seen 
her.  She  knew  what  powers  of  observation  his 
quiet  almost  lazy  manner  could  hide. 

This  chance  meeting  took  place  on  the  way  to  the 


THE  THIN  WALL  301 

Grand  Central  Station,  where  they  met  the  Masons, 
and  were  joined  almost  at  the  last  moment  by 
Knight,  just  as  Annesley  had  begun  to  wonder  if, 
after  all,  he  were  not  coming. 

He  was  as  calm  as  though  there  were  no  haste,  and 
said  he  had  been  delayed  hi  collecting  the  luggage 
from  the  ship.  He  had  a  good  deal  to  say  about  that 
luggage;  and  what  with  thanks  to  the  Waldos  for 
books  and  flowers  and  chocolates,  and  their  kindness 
to  Annesley,  Mrs.  Waldo  (with  the  best  intentions) 
found  no  chance  to  mention  Paul  Van  Vreck. 

Annesley  had  not  meant  to  refer  to  him,  though 
seeing  Knight  come  out  of  his  shut-up  house  had 
given  her  a  shivering  sense  of  mystery;  but  when  the 
train  had  started,  Knight  came  to  the  door  of  her 
stateroom. 

"  There  are  one  or  two  things  I  should  like  to  speak 
to  you  about,  if  you  don't  mind,"  he  said,  in  the  kind 
yet  distant  manner  which  had  replaced  the  old  lover- 
like  way  when  they  were  alone  together. 

"Come  in,"  she  replied,  and  added,  lowering  her 
voice :  "  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Mason  are  next  door." 

"They  are  too  much  in  love  to  be  thinking  about 
us,  or  listening,"  he  answered;  and  Annesley  im- 
agined a  ring  of  bitterness  in  his  tone.  "I've  come 
to  talk  over  plans,  but  before  we  begin  I  want  to 
explain  something.  Once  you  made  a  guess  in 
connection  with  Paul  Van  Vreck.  Probably  you 
think  that  what  you  saw  confirms  it.  Of  course,  the 
Waldos  were  telling  you  whose  house  it  was;  and  as 
luck  would  have  it,  I  came  out  at  that  instant. 


302  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

"Whether  there  was  anything  in  your  guess  or  not 
doesn't  matter.  You're  too  sensible  to  mention  it  to 
any  one  except  me.  But  I  can't  have  you  torturing 
yourself  with  the  idea  that  such  dealings  as  you 
imagine  with  Van  Vreck  are  still  going  on,  if  they 
ever  did  go  on.  Because  I  have  faith  in  your  dis- 
cretion, and  because  I  owe  it  to  you,  I'm  going  to 
explain  why  I  went  to  Van  Vreck's  house  this  after- 
noon— why  I  was  obliged  to  go.  I  knew  he  would 
have  got  back  from  Florida.  I  hear  from  him  some- 
times, and  I  had  to  tell  him  that  any  business  I'd  ever 
done  for  him  was  done  for  the  last  time,  because — I 
was  going  to  settle  down  to  ranch  life  in  Texas. 

"Also  I  handed  to  him  the  Malindore  diamond. 
His  firm  lost  it.  His  firm  has  by  this  time  been  paid 
the  insurance.  It's  up  to  him  how  to  dispose  of  the 
property. 

"That's  all  I  have  to  say  about  Van  Vreck.  I 
thought  in  fairness  you  ought  to  know  that  I  didn't 
keep  the  diamond.  And  I  thought  I  might  tell  you 
that  my  call  at  Van  Vreck's  didn't  mean  entering  any 
new  deal." 

"Thank  you,"  Annesley  said,  stiffly.    "I  am  glad." 

She  was  glad,  yet  she  wished  the  man  to  understand 
how  impersonal  was  her  gladness;  how  impossible  it 
was  that  any  atonement  could  bring  them  together 
again  in  spirit;  how  dead  was  the  past  which  he  had 
slain.  And  he  did  understand  as  clearly  from  her 
few  words  as  if  she  had  preached  him  an  hour's  ser- 
mon. 

"Now,  for  what  you  are  to  do,"  he  went  on,  crisply. 


THE  THIN  WALL  303 

"Although  you  and  I  never  discussed  the  situation 
on  board  ship,  I  realized  what  the  Waldos  were  letting 
you  in  for.  I  supposed  you'd  feel  that  your  staying 
in  New  York  was  out  of  the  question.  I  bought  our 
tickets  to  Texas.  At  the  same  time  I  got  a  map  and  a 
guide-book  which  gives  information  about  places  on 
the  way  and  beyond. 

"The  Masons  being  on  the  train  to  Kansas  City 
was  a  new  complication.  But  it  wasn't  my  fault. 
And  it  only  means  that  the  game  of  keeping  up 
appearances  must  be  played  a  little  farther. 

"Would  you  like  to  go  to  California?  If  you  want 
to  take  back  your  maiden  name  and  be  Miss  Grayle — 
or  if  you  care  to  have  a  new  name  to  begin  a  new  life 
with,  a  quite  respectable  fellow  called  Michael 
Donaldson  could  introduce  you  to  a  few  influential 
people  in  Los  Angeles.  No  danger  of  meeting 
Madalena  de  Santiago  there,  though  it's  only  a  day's 
journey  from  San  Francisco,  where  she's  very  likely 
arrived  by  this  time.  She  has  reasons  for  not  liking 
Los  Angeles.  In  her  early  days  she  had  some — er — 
financial  troubles  there,  and  she  wouldn't  enjoy 
being  reminded  of  them." 

"Is  Los  Angeles  farther  than  El  Paso?'*  Annesley 
inquired,  keeping  her  voice  steady,  though  there  was 
a  sickly  chill  in  her  heart. 

"A  good  way  farther,"  Knight  went  on,  in  the  same 
businesslike  tone  which  separated  him  thousands  of 
miles  from  the  Knight  she  used  to  know.  "Here, 
I'll  show  you  how  the  land  lies." 

Opening  a  map  of  a  western  railroad,  he  drew  a 


304  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

little  closer  to  her  on  the  seat,  and  pointed  out  place 
after  place  along  the  black  line;  told  her  when  they 
would  arrive  at  Kansas  City,  and  how  they  would  go 
on  without  change  to  Albuquerque. 

There,  he  said,  he  must  take  another  train  for  El 
Paso,  and  from  El  Paso  he  must  go  a  distance  of 
twenty  miles  to  the  ranch,  which  lay  close  to  the 
border  of  Mexico,  on  the  Rio  Grande. 

"But  you,"  he  said,  quietly,  "you  can  keep  straight 
along  in  the  train  we'll  get  into  at  Chicago  till  you 
come  to  Los  Angeles.  There'll  be  time  in  Chicago  to 
buy  your  ticket  to  California,  and  I  can  write  letters 
of  introduction.  They'll  be  to  good  people.  You 
needn't  be  afraid." 

Yet  Annesley  was  afraid,  deathly  afraid.  Not 
that  Knight's  friends  would  not  be  "good  people," 
but  of  going  on  alone  to  an  unknown  place  in  an  un- 
known country.  It  would  not  have  been  so  terrible* 
she  thought,  to  have  stayed  in  New  York — if  only  the 
Waldos  hadn't  interfered.  But  to  have  this  man — • 
who,  after  all,  was  her  one  link  with  the  old  world — • 
get  out  of  the  train  which  was  hurling  them  through 
space  and  leave  her  to  go  on  alone! 

That  was  a  fearful  thing.  She  could  not  face  the 
thought — at  least  not  yet.  Perhaps  she  would  feel 
more  courageous  to-morrow.  On  the  ship  she  had 
slept  little.  Her  nerves  felt  like  violin  strings 
stretched  too  tight — stretched  to  the  point  of  break- 
ing. 

"Does  that  plan  suit  you — as  well  as  any  other?" 
Knight  was  asking. 


THE  THIN  WALL  305 

"I — can't  decide  yet,"  the  girl  answered;  and  to 
keep  tears  back  seemed  the  most  important  thing 
just  then.  "It  doesn't  matter,  does  it,  as  I  must  go 
on  past  Kansas  City?" 

*'  No,  it  doesn't  matter,"  Knight  agreed.  "  You've 
plenty  of  time.  I  suppose  you'd  like  me  to  leave  you 
now,  to  rest  till  dinner  time?  Here's  the  guide-book. 
You  might  care  to  look  it  over." 

But  when  he  had  gone  Annesley  let  the  book  lie  un- 
opened on  the  seat.  She  was  very  tired.  She  could 
not  think  far  ahead.  Her  mind  would  occupy  itself 
with  the  features  of  the  journey,  not  with  her  own 
affairs. 

Everything  was  strange  and  new.  Even  the  train 
was  wonderful.  She  had  thought,  in  the  immense 
station,  that  the  cars  looked  like  a  procession  of 
splendidly  built  bungalows  each  painted  a  different 
colour  and  having  brightly  polished  metal  balconies 
at  the  end.  And  inside,  the  car  was  still  like  a 
bungalow,  or  perhaps  a  houseboat,  with  neat  little 
panelled  rooms  opening  all  the  way  down  a  long  aisle. 

The  coffee-coloured  porter  and  maid  were  delight- 
ful. They  smiled  at  her  kindly,  and  when  they 
smiled  it  seemed  sadder  than  ever  not  to  be  happy. 

The  Masons'  talk  at  dinner  was  disconcerting. 
They  took  it  for  granted  that  she  and  Knight  were  an 
adoring  newly  married  couple,  like  themselves. 
Annesley  was  thankful  to  escape,  and  to  go  to  bed 
in  her  little  panelled  room. 

"To-morrow,  when  I'm  rested,  things  will  be 
easier,"  she  told  herself. 


306  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

But  to-morrow  came  and  she  was  not  rested;  for 
again  she  had  not  slept. 

In  Chicago  there  were  hours  to  wait  before  train 
time.-  The  Masons  proposed  taking  a  motor-car  to 
see  the  sights,  and  lunching  together  at  a  famous 
Chinese  restaurant. 

At  a  sign  from  her,  Knight  consented.  It  was 
better  to  be  with  the  Masons  than  with  him  alone. 
After  luncheon,  however,  Knight  drew  her  aside. 

"What  about  Los  Angeles?"  he  inquired.  "Have 
you  decided?" 

Annesley  felt  incapable  of  deciding  anything,  and 
her  unhappy  face  betrayed  her  state  of  mind. 

"If  you'd  rather  think  it  over  longer,"  he  said, 
"I  can  buy  your  ticket  at  Albuquerque." 

"Very  well,"  Annesley  replied.  She  did  not  re- 
member where  Albuquerque  was,  though  Knight  had 
pointed  it  out  on  the  map;  and  she  did  not  care 
to  remember.  All  she  wanted  was  not  to  decide 
then. 

Knight  turned  away  without  speaking.  But  there 
was  a  look  almost  of  hope  in  his  eyes.  Things  could 
not  be  what  they  had  been;  yet  they  were  better  than 
they  might  be. 

At  Kansas  City  the  Masons  bade  the  Nelson 
Smiths  good-bye.  And  from  that  moment  the 
Nelson  Smiths  ceased  to  exist.  There  were  no 
initials  on  their  luggage. 

The  man  kept  to  his  own  stateroom.  Annesley, 
alone  next  door,  had  plenty  of  books  to  read,  parting 
gifts  from  the  Waldos;  but  the  most  engrossing  novel 


THE  THIN  WALL  307 

ever  written  could  not  have  held  her  attention.  The 
landscape  changed  kaleidoscopically.  She  wondered 
when  they  would  arrive  at  Albuquerque,  wondered, 
yet  did  not  want  to  know. 

"Would  you  rather  go  to  the  dining  car  alone,  or 
have  me  take  you?"  Knight  came  to  ask. 

"It's  better  to  go  together,  or  people  may  think  it 
strange,"  she  said.  Even  as  she  spoke  she  wondered 
at  herself.  The  Masons  having  gone,  the  other 
travellers — strangers  whom  they  would  not  meet 
again — were  not  of  much  importance.  Yet  she  let 
her  words  pass.  And  at  dinner  that  evening  she 
forced  herself  to  ask,  "Do  we  get  to  Albuquerque  to- 
night?" 

"Not  till  to-morrow  forenoon,"  Knight  informed 
her  casually.  He  feared  for  a  moment  that  she  might 
say  she  could  not  wait  so  long  before  making  up  her 
mind;  but  she  only  looked  startled,  opened  her  lips 
as  if  to  speak,  and  closed  them  again. 

Next  day  there  were  no  more  apple  orchards  and 
flat  or  rolling  meadow  lands.  The  train  had  brought 
them  into  another  world,  a  world  unlike  anything 
that  Annesley  had  seen  before.  At  the  stations  were 
flat-faced,  half-breed  Indians  and  Mexicans;  some 
poorly  clad,  others  gaily  dressed,  with  big  straw  hats 
painted  with  flowers,  and  green  leggings  laced  with 
faded  gold.  In  the  distance  were  hills  and  mountains, 
and  the  train  ran  through  stretches  of  red  desert 
sprinkled  with  rough  grass,  or  cleft  with  river-beds, 
where  golden  sands  played  over  by  winds  were  ruffled 
into  little  waves. 


308  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

Toward  noon  Knight  showed  himself  at  the  open 
door  of  the  stateroom. 

"We'll  be  in  Albuquerque  before  long  now,"  he 
announced.  "That's  where  I  change,  you  know,  for 
Texas.  The  train  stops  for  a  while,  and  I  can  get 
your  ticket  for  Los  Angeles.  Those  letters  of  in- 
troduction I  told  you  about  are  ready.  I've  left 
a  blank  for  your  name.  I  suppose  you've  made  up 
your  mind  what  you  want  to  do?" 

Some  people  with  handbags  pushed  past,  and 
Knight  had  to  step  into  the  room  to  avoid  them. 
The  moment,  long  delayed,  was  upon  her! 

Annesley  remembered  how  she  had  put  off  deciding 
whether  or  not  to  sail  for  America  with  Knight. 
Now  a  still  more  formidable  decision  was  before  her 
and  had  to  be  faced.  She  glanced  up  at  the  tall, 
standing  figure.  Knight  was  not  looking  at  her. 
His  eyes  were  on  the  desert  landscape  flying  past  the 
windows. 

"What  I  want  to  do!"  she  echoed.  "There's 
nothing  in  this  world  that  I  want  to  do." 

"Then" — and  Knight  did  not  take  his  eyes  from 
the  window — "why  not  drift?" 

"Drift?" 

"Yes.  To  Texas.  Oh,  I  know!  I  asked  you  that 
before,  and  you  said  you  wouldn't.  But  hasn't 
destiny  decided?  Would  it  have  sent  you  these 
thousands  of  miles  with  me  unless  it  meant  you  to 
fight  it  out  on  those  lines?  You've  travelled  far 
enough,  side  by  side  with  me,  to  learn  that  a  man 
and  a  woman  with  only  a  thin  wall  between  them 


THE  THIN  WALL  309 

can  be  as  far  apart  as  if  they  were  separated  by  a 
continent. 

"Now,  this  minute,  you've  got  to  decide.  It 
isn't  /  who  tell  you  so.  It's  fate.  Will  you  go  on 
alone  from  the  place  we're  coming  to,  or — will  you 
try  the  thin  wall?" 


CHAPTER  XXIV 
THE  ANNIVERSARY 

THE  girl  felt  as  if  some  great  flood  were  sweeping 
her  off  her  feet.  She  clutched  mechanically  at  any- 
thing to  save  herself.  Knight  was  there.  He  stood 
between  her  and  desolation;  but  if  he  had  spoken 
then— if  he  had  said  he  wanted  her,  and  begged  her  to 
stay,  she  would  have  chosen  desolation. 

Instead,  he  was  silent,  his  eyes  not  on  her,  but  on 
the  desert. 

"You — swear  you  will  let  me  live  my  own  life?" 
she  faltered. 

"I  swear  I  will  let  you  live  your  own  life." 

He  repeated  her  words,  as  he  had  repeated  the 
words  of  the  clergyman  who  had,  according  to  the  law 
of  God,  given  "this  woman  to  this  man." 

The  tram,  was  stopping. 

Annesley  knew  that  she  could  not  go  on  alone. 

"I  will  try — Texas,"  she  said  in  final  decision. 

Las  Cruces  Ranch  was  named,  not  after  the  New 
Mexico  town  thirty  or  forty  miles  away,  but  in 
honour  of  the  Holy  Crosses  which  had  rested  there 
one  night,  centuries  ago,  while  on  a  sacred  pilgrimage. 

It  was  a  lonely  ranch,  as  far  from  El  Paso  in  Texas 

310 


THE  ANNIVERSARY  311 

as  it  was  from  the  namesake  town  in  New  Mexico, 
Even  the  nearest  village,  a  huddled  collection  of  low 
adobe  houses  and  wooden  shacks  on  the  Rio  Grande 
("Furious  River,"  as  the  Indians  called  it),  was  ten 
miles  distant.  Only  the  river  was  near,  as  the  word 
"near "  is  used  in  that  land  of  vast  spaces.  At  night, 
if  a  great  wind  blew,  Annesley  fancied  she  could  hear 
the  voice  of  the  rushing  water. 

When  she  first  saw  the  place  where  she  had  bound 
herself  to  live,  her  heart  sank.  It  seemed  that  she 
would  not  be  able  to  support  the  loneliness;  for  it 
would  be  desperately  lonely  to  live  there,  lacking  the 
companionship  of  someone  dearly  loved.  But 
afterward — afterward  she  could  no  more  analyze 
her  feeling  for  the  country  than  for  the  man  who  had 
brought  her  to  it. 

Lonely  as  she  was,  she  was  never  homesick.  In- 
deed, she  had  no  home  to  long  for,  no  one  whose  love 
called  her  back  to  the  old  world.  And  she  was  glad 
that  there  were  no  neighbours  to  come,  to  call  her 
"Mrs.  Donaldson"  and  ask  questions  about  England. 

She  had  nobody  except  the  Mexican  servant  woman 
and  the  cowboys  who  stayed  with  the  new  rancher 
when  the  old  one  went  away. 

Knight  had  suggested  that  she  should  wait  in  El 
Paso  until  he  had  seen  whether  the  house  was  habit- 
able for  her,  and  had  made  it  so,  if  it  were  not  already. 
But  Annesley  had  chosen  to  begin  her  new  life  with- 
out delay,  for  she  was  in  a  mood  where  hardships 
seemed  of  no  importance.  It  was  only  when  she  had 
to  face  them  hi  their  sordid  nakedness  that  she  shrank. 


312  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

Yet,  after  all,  what  did  it  matter?  If  she  had  stepped 
into  the  most  luxurious  surroundings  she  would  have 
been  no  less  unhappy. 

The  low  house  was  of  adobe,  plastered  white,  but 
stained  and  battered  where  the  walls  were  not  hidden 
by  rank-growing  creepers,  convolvulus,  and  Madeira 
vines.  If  the  girl  had  read  its  description  in  some 
book — the  veranda,  formed  by  the  steep-sloping  roof 
of  the  one-story  building;  the  patio,  walled  mysteri- 
ously in  with  a  high,  flower-draped  barrier;  the  long 
windows  with  green  shutters — she  would  have 
imagined  it  to  be  picturesque. 

But  it  was  not  picturesque.  It  was  only  shabby 
and  uninviting;  at  least  that  was  her  impression  when 
she  arrived,  toward  evening,  after  a  long,  jolting 
drive  in  a  hired  motor-car. 

The  paintless  wooden  balustrade  and  flooring  of 
the  veranda  were  broken.  So  also  were  the  faded 
green  shutters.  The  patio  was  but  a  little  square  of 
dust  and  stringy  grass.  A  few  dilapidated  chairs 
stood  about,  homemade  looking  chairs  with  concave 
seats  of  worn  cowskin. 

Inside  the  house  there  was  little  furniture,  and 
what  there  was  struck  Annesley  as  hideous.  Noth- 
ing was  whole.  Everything  was  falling  to  pieces. 
Illustrations  cut  out  of  newspapers  were  pasted  on  the 
dirty,  whitewashed  walls. 

The  slatternly  servant,  who  could  speak  only 
"Mex,"  had  got  no  supper  ready.  Knight  would  let 
Annesley  do  nothing,  but  he  deftly  helped  the  woman 
to  fry  some  eggs  and  make  coffee.  He  tried  to  find 


THE  ANNIVERSARY  313 

dishes  which  were  not  cracked  or  broken,  and  could 
not. 

If  he  and  Annesley  had  loved  each  other,  or  had 
even  been  friends,  they  would  have  laughed  and  en- 
joyed the  adventure.  But  Annesley  had  no  heart  for 
laughter.  She  could  only  smile  a  frozen,  polite  little 
smile,  and  say  that  it  "did  not  matter.  Everything 
would  do  very  well."  She  would  soon  get  used  to  the 
place,  and  learn  how  to  get  on. 

When  she  had  to  speak  to  Knight  she  called  him 
"you."  There  was  no  other  name  which  she  could 
bear  to  use.  He  had  had  too  many  names  in  the  past ! 

As  time  went  on,  however,  the  girl  surprised  her- 
self by  not  being  able  to  hate  her  home.  She  found 
mysteriously  lovely  colours  in  the  yellow-gray  desert; 
shadows  blue  as  lupines  and  purple  as  Russian  violets; 
high  lights  of  shimmering,  pale  gold. 

Spanish  bayonets,  straight  and  sharp  as  enchanted 
swords  which  had  magically  flowered,  lilied  the 
desert  stretches,  and  there  were  strange  red  blossoms 
like  drops  of  blood  clinging  to  the  points  of  long  dag- 
gers. Bird  of  Paradise  plants  were  there,  too,  well 
named  for  their  plumy  splendour  of  crimson,  white, 
and  yellow;  and  as  the  spring  advanced  the  China 
trees  brought  memories  of  English  lilacs. 

The  air  was  sweet  with  the  scent  of  locust  blossoms, 
and  along  the  clear  horizon  fantastically  formed 
mountains  seemed  to  float  like  changing  cloud-shapes. 

The  cattle,  which  Knight  had  bought  from  the 
departing  rancher,  had  their  corrals  and  scanty 
pastures  far  from  the  house,  but  the  cowboys'  quar- 


314  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

ters  were  near,  and  Annesley  never  tired  of  seeing 
the  laughing  young  men  mount  and  ride  their  slim, 
nervous  horses. 

This  fact  they  got  to  know,  and  performed  in- 
credible antics  to  excite  her  admiration.  They 
thought  her  beautiful,  and  wondered  if  she  had  lost 
someone  whom  she  loved,  that  she  should  look  so 
cold  and  sad. 

These  men,  though  she  seldom  spoke  to  any,  were 
a  comfort  to  Annesley.  Without  their  shouts  and 
rough  jokes  and  laughter  the  place  would  have  been 
gloomy  as  a  grave. 

There  was  a  colony  of  prairie  dogs  which  she  could 
visit  by  taking  a  long  walk,  and  they,  too,  were  com- 
forting. It  was  Knight  who  told  her  of  the  creatures 
and  where  to  seek  them;  but  he  did  not  show  her  the 
way. 

If  things  had  been  well  between  them,  the  man's 
anxiety  to  please  her  would  have  been  adorable  to 
Annesley.  As  soon  as  he  saw  the  deficiencies  of  the 
house,  he  went  himself  to  El  Paso  to  choose  furniture 
and  pretty  simple  chintzes,  old-fashioned  china  and 
delicate  glass,  bedroom  and  table  damask.  He 
ordered  books  also,  and  subscribed  for  magazines  and 
papers. 

Returning,  he  said  nothing  of  what  he  had  done, 
for  he  hoped  that  the  surprise  might  prick  the  girl  to 
interest,  rousing  her  from  the  lethargy  which  had 
settled  over  her  like  a  fog.  But  her  gratitude  was 
perfunctory.  She  was  always  polite,  but  the  pretty 
things  seemed  to  give  her  no  real  pleasure. 


THE  ANNIVERSARY  315 

Knight  had  to  realize  that  she  was  one  of  those 
people  who,  when  inwardly  unhappy,  are  almost 
incapable  of  feeling  small  joys.  Such  as  she  had  were 
found  in  getting  away  from  him  as  far  as  possible. 

She  practically  lived  out  of  doors  in  the  summer- 
time, taking  pains  to  go  where  he  would  not  pass  on 
his  rounds  of  the  ranch;  and  even  after  the  sitting 
room  had  been  made  "liveable"  with  the  new  car- 
pet laid  by  Knight  and  the  chintz  curtains  he  put 
up  with  his  own  hands,  she  fled  to  her  room  for 
sanctuary. 

Knight's  search  for  capable  servants  was  vain  until 
he  picked  up  a  Chinaman  from  over  the  Mexican 
border,  illegal  but  valuable  as  a  household  asset. 
Under  the  new  regime  there  was  good  food,  and 
Annesley  had  no  work  save  the  hopeless  task  of 
finding  happiness. 

It  was  easy  to  see  from  the  white,  set  look  of  her 
face  as  the  monotonous  months  dragged  on  that  she 
was  no  nearer  to  accomplishing  that  task  than  on  the 
day  of  her  arrival.  Nothing  that  Knight  could  do 
made  any  difference.  When  an  upright  cottage  piano 
appeared  one  day,  the  girl  seemed  distressed  rather 
than  pleased. 

"You  shouldn't  spend  money  on  me,"  she  said  in 
the  gentle,  weary  way  that  was  becoming  habitual. 

"It's  the  'good  fund'  money,"  Knight  explained, 
hastily  and  almost  humbly.  "It's  growing,  you 
know.  I've  struck  some  fine  investments.  And  I'm 
going  to  do  well  with  this  ranch.  We  don't  need 
to  economize.  I  thought  you'd  enjoy  a  piano." 


316  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

"Thank  you.  You're  very  kind,"  she  answered, 
as  if  he  had  been  a  stranger.  "But  I'm  out  of 
practice.  I  hardly  feel  energy  to  take  it  up  again." 

His  hopes  of  what  Texas  might  do  for  her  faded 
slowly;  and  even  when  their  fire  had  died  under 
cooling  ashes,  his  silent,  unobtrusive  care  never  re- 
laxed. 

Only  the  deepest  love — such  love  as  can  remake  a 
man's  whole  nature — could  have  been  strong  enough 
to  bear  the  strain. 

But  Annesley,  blinded  by  the  anguish  which  never 
ceased  to  ache,  did  not  see  that  it  was  possible  for 
such  a  nature  to  change.  She  who  had  believed 
passionately  in  her  hero  of  romance  was  stripped  of 
all  belief  in  him  now,  as  a  young  tree  in  blossom  is 
stripped  of  its  delicate  bloom  by  an  icy  wind.  Not 
believing  in  him,  neither  did  she  believe  in  his  love. 

She  thought  that  he  was  sorry  for  her,  that  he  was 
grateful  for  what  she  had  done  to  help  him;  that  per- 
haps for  the  tune  being  he  intended  to  "turn  over  a 
new  leaf,"  not  really  for  her  sake,  but  because  he  had 
been  in  danger  of  being  found  out. 

Scornfully  she  told  herself  that  this  pretence  at 
ranching  was  one  of  the  many  adventures  dotted 
along  his  career;  one  act  in  the  melodrama  of  which  he 
delighted  to  be  the  leading  actor.  His  own  love  of 
luxury  and  charming  surroundings  was  enough  to 
account  for  the  improvements  he  hastened  to  make 
at  the  ranchhouse. 

Anxiously  she  put  away  the  thought  that  all  he  did 
Was  for  her.  She  did  not  wish  to  accept  it.  She  did 


THE  ANNIVERSARY  317 

not  want  the  obligation  of  gratitude.  It  even  seemed 
puerile  that  he  should  attempt  to  make  up  for  spoil- 
ing her  life  by  supplying  a  few  easy  chairs  and 
pictures  and  a  Chinese  cook. 

"He  likes  the  things  himself  and  can't  live  without 
them,"  she  insisted.  And  it  was  to  show  him  that  he 
could  not  atone  in  such  childish  ways  that  she  lived 
out  of  doors  or  hid  in  her  own  room. 

At  first  she  locked  the  door  of  that  room  when  she 
entered,  thinking  of  it  defiantly  as  her  fortress  which 
must  be  defended.  But  when  weeks  grew  into 
months  and  the  enemy  never  attacked  the  fortress 
her  vigilance  relaxed.  She  forgot  to  lock  the  door. 

Summer  passed.  Autumn  and  then  winter  came. 
Knight  was  a  good  deal  away,  for  he  had  bought  an 
interest  in  a  newly  opened  copper  mine  in  the  Organ 
Mountains,  and  was  interested  in  the  development 
which  might  mean  fortune.  At  night,  however,  he 
came  back  in  the  second-hand  motor-car  which  he 
had  got  at  a  bargain  price  in  El  Paso,  and  drove  him- 
self. 

Annesley  never  failed  to  hear  him  return,  though 
she  gave  no  sign.  And  sometimes  she  would  peep 
through  the  slats  of  her  green  shutters  on  one  side 
of  the  patio  at  the  windows  of  his  bedroom  and 
"office,"  which  were  opposite.  It  was  seldom  that 
his  light  did  not  burn  late,  and  Annesley  went  to  bed 
thinking  hard  thoughts,  asking  herself  what  schemes 
of  new  adventure  he  might  be  plotting  for  the  day 
when  he  should  tire  of  the  ranch. 

Often  she  wondered  that  her  life  was  not  more 


318  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

hateful  than  it  was;  for  somehow  it  was  not  hateful. 
Texas,  with  its  vast  spaces  and  blowing  gusts  of 
ozone,  had  begun  to  mean  more  for  her  than  her  cold 
reserve  let  Knight  guess,  more  than  she  herself  could 
understand. 

On  Christmas  morning,  when  she  opened  her  bed- 
room door,  she  almost  stumbled  over  a  covered 
Mexican  basket  of  woven  coloured  straws.  Some- 
thing inside  it  moved  and  sighed. 

She  stooped,  lifted  the  cover,  and  saw,  curled  up 
on  a  bit  of  red  blanketing,  a  miniature  Chihuahua 
dog.  It  had  a  body  as  slight  and  shivering  as  a 
tendril  of  grapevine;  a  tiny  pointed  face,  with  a  high 
forehead  and  immense,  almost  human  eyes. 

At  sight  of  her  a  thread  of  tail  wagged,  and 
Annesley  felt  a  warm  impulse  of  affection  toward 
the  little  creature.  Of  course  it  was  a  present  from 
Knight,  though  there  was  no  word  to  tell  her  so; 
and  if  the  dog  had  not  looked  at  her  with  an  offer  of 
all  its  love  and  self  she  would  perhaps  have  refused  to 
accept  it  rather  than  encourage  the  giving  of  gifts. 

But  after  that  look  she  could  not  let  the  animal  go. 
Its  possession  made  life  warmer;  and  it  was  good  to 
see  it  lying  in  front  of  her  open  fire  of  mesquite  roots. 

She  had  no  Christmas  gift  for  Knight. 

He  had  made,  soon  after  their  coming  to  the  ranch, 
a  cactus  fence  round  the  house  enclosure;  and  seeing 
the  dry  ugliness  of  the  long,  straight  sticks  placed 
close  together,  Annesley  disliked  and  wondered  at  it. 
At  last  she  questioned  Knight,  and  complained  that 


THE  ANNIVERSARY  319 

the  bristly  barrier  was  an  eyesore.  She  wished  it 
might  be  taken  down. 

"Wait  till  spring,"  he  answered.  "It  isn't  a 
barrier;  it's  an  allegory.  Maybe  when  you  see  what 
happens  you'll  understand.  Maybe  you  won't.  It 
depends  on  your  own  feelings." 

Annesley  said  no  more,  but  she  did  not  forget. 
She  thought,  if  her  understanding  of  the  allegory 
meant  any  change  of  feeling  which  the  man  might  be 
looking  for  in  her,  she  would  never  understand.  She 
hated  to  look  at  the  line  of  stark,  naked  sticks,  but 
they,  and  the  "allegory"  they  represented,  con- 
stantly recurred  to  her  mind. 

One  day  in  spring  she  noticed  that  the  sticks  looked 
less  dry.  Knob-like  buds  had  broken  out  upon  them, 
the  first  sign  that  they  were  living  things.  It 
happened  to  be  Easter  eve,  and  she  was  restless,  full 
of  strange  thoughts  as  the  yellow-flowering  grease- 
wood  bushes  were  full  of  rushing  sap. 

A  year  ago  that  night  her  love  for  her  husband  had 
died  its  sudden,  tragic  death.  In  the  very  act  of  for- 
giveness, forgiveness  had  been  killed. 

Knight  had  gone  off  early  that  morning  in  his 
motor-car,  the  poor  car  which  was  a  pathetic  con- 
trast to  the  glories  of  last  year  in  England.  He  had 
gone  before  she  was  up,  and  had  mentioned  to  the 
Chinese  cook  that  he  might  not  be  back  until  late. 

"That  means  after  midnight,"  she  told  herself; 
and  since  she  was  free  as  air,  she  decided  to  take  a 
long  walk  in  the  afternoon,  as  far  as  the  river.  It 
seemed  that  if  she  stayed  in  the  house  the  thought  of 


320  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

life  as  it  might  have  been  and  life  as  it  was  would  kill 
her  on  this  day  of  all  other  days. 

"I  wish  I  could  die!"  she  said.  "But  not  here. 
Somewhere  a  long  way  off  from  everyone — and  from 
him." 

As  she  passed  the  cactus  fence  the  buds  were  big. 

Across  the  river,  where  the  water  flowed  high  and 
wide  just  then,  lay  Mexico.  Annesley  had  never 
been  there,  though  she  could  easily  have  gone,  had 
she  wished,  from  the  ranch  to  El  Paso,  and  from  El 
Paso  to  the  queer  old  historic  town  of  Juarez.  But 
she  could  not  have  gone  without  Knight,  and  there 
was  no  pleasure  in  travelling  with  him. 

Besides,  there  was  trouble  across  the  border,  and 
fierce  fighting  now  and  then.  There  had  been  some 
thievish  raids  made  by  Mexicans  upon  ranches  along 
the  river  not  many  miles  away,  and  that  reminded  her 
how  Knight  had  remarked  some  weeks  ago  that  she 
had  better  not  go  alone  as  far  as  the  river  bank. 

"It  isn't  likely  that  anything  would  happen  by 
day,"  he  said,  "but  you  might  be  shot  at  from  the 
other  side."  Annesley  was  not  afraid,  and  there  was 
a  faint  stirring  of  pleasure  in  the  thought  that  she  was 
doing  something  against  his  wish  on  this  anniversary. 
Deliberately,  she  sat  alone  by  the  river,  waiting  for 
the  pageant  of  sunset  to  pass;  and  when  she  reached 
home  the  moon  was  up,  a  great  white  moon  that 
turned  the  waving  waste  of  pale,  sparse  grasses  to  a 
silver  sea. 

She  had  taken  sandwiches  and  fruit  with  her,  tell- 
ing the  cook  that  she  would  want  no  dinner  when  she 


THE  ANNIVERSARY  321 

came  back.  Away  in  the  cow-punchers'  quarters 
there  was  music,  and  she  flung  herself  into  a  ham- 
mock on  the  veranda,  to  rest  and  listen. 

There  was  a  soft  yet  cool  wind  from  the  south, 
bringing  the  fragrance  of  creosote  blossoms,  and  it 
seemed  to  the  girl  that  never  had  she  seen  such 
white  floods  of  moonlight,  not  even  that  night  a  year 
ago  at  Valley  House. 

Even  the  sky  was  milk-white.  There  were  no 
black  shadows  anywhere,  only  dove-gray  ones, 
except  under  the  veranda  roof.  Her  hammock  was 
screened  from  the  light  by  one  dark  shadow,  like  a 
straight-hung  curtain.  Save  for  the  music  of  a 
fiddle  and  men's  voices,  the  silver-white  world  lay 
silent  hi  enchanted  sleep. 

Then  suddenly  something  moved.  A  tall,  dark 
figure  was  coming  to  the  veranda.  It  paused  at  the 
cactus  fence. 

Could  it  be  Knight,  home  already  and  on  foot? 
No,  it  was  a  woman. 

She  walked  straight  and  fast  and  unhesitating  to 
the  veranda,  where  she  sat  down  on  the  steps. 

Annesley  raised  herself  on  her  elbow,  and  peered 
out  of  the  concealing  shadow.  Who  could  the 
woman  be?  It  was  on  the  tip  of  her  tongue  to  call, 
"Who  are  you?"  when  a  sudden  lifting  of  the  bent 
face  under  a  drooping  hat  brought  it  beneath  the 
searchlight  of  the  moon. 

The  woman  was  the  Countess  de  Santiago,  and  the 
moon's  radiance  so  lit  her  dark  eyes  that  she  seemed 
to  look  straight  at  Annesley  in  her  hammock.  The 


322  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

girl's  heart  gave  a  leap  of  some  emotion  like  fear, 
yet  not  fear.  She  did  not  stop  to  analyze  it,  but  she 
knew  that  she  wished  to  escape  from  the  woman; 
and  an  instant's  reflection  told  her  that  she  could  not 
be  seen  if  she  kept  still. 

She  began  to  think  quickly,  and  her  thoughts, 
confused  at  first,  straightened  themselves  out  like 
threads  disentangled  from  a  knot. 

The  woman  had  marched  up  to  the  veranda  with 
such  unfaltering  certainty  that  it  seemed  she  must 
have  been  there  before.  Perhaps  she  had  arrived 
while  the  mistress  of  the  house  was  out,  and  had  been 
walking  about  the  place,  to  pass  away  the  time. 

"But  she  hasn't  come  to  see  me,"  the  girl  in  the 
hammock  thought.  "She  has  come  to  see  Knight. 
It's  for  him  she  is  waiting." 

Anger  stirred  in  Annesley's  heart,  anger  against 
Knight  as  well  as  against  Madalena. 

"Has  he  written  and  told  her  to  come?"  she 
asked  herself.  "Does  she  think  she  can  stay  in  this 
house?  No,  she  shall  not!  I  won't  have  her  here!'' 

She  was  half-minded  to  rise  abruptly  and  surprise 
the  Countess,  as  the  Countess  had  surprised  her; 
to  ask  why  she  had  come,  and  to  show  that  she  was 
not  welcome.  But  if  Madalena  were  here  at  Knight's 
invitation  she  would  stay.  There  would  be  a  scene 
perhaps.  The  thought  was  revolting.  Annesley 
lay  still;  and  in  the  distance  she  heard  the  throbbing 
of  a  motor. 


CHAPTER  XXV 
THE  ALLEGORY 

ANNESLEY  knew  that  Knight  was  in  the  habit  of 
coming  home  that  way,  in  order  not  to  disturb  her 
with  the  noise  of  the  car  if  she  had  gone  to  bed.  If  he 
were  bringing  parcels  from  the  little  mining  town, 
he  drove  to  the  house,  left  the  packets,  and  ran  the 
auto  to  a  shanty  he  had  rigged  up  for  a  garage. 

A  few  seconds  later  the  small  open  car  came  into 
slight,  and  Madalena  sprang  up,  waving  a  dark  veil 
she  had  snatched  off  her  hat.  She  feared,  no  doubt, 
that  the  man  might  take  another  direction  and  per- 
haps get  into  the  house  by  some  door  she  did  not 
know  before  she  could  intercept  him.  From  a  little 
distance  the  tall  figure  standing  on  the  veranda  steps 
must  have  been  silhouetted  black  against  the  white 
wall  of  the  house,  clearly  to  be  seen  from  the  ad- 
vancing motor. 

Quick  as  a  bird  in  flight  the  car  sped  along  the 
road,  wheeled  on  to  the  stiff  grass,  and  drew  up  close 
to  the  veranda  steps. 

"Good  heavens,  Madalena!"  Annesley  heard  her 
husband  exclaim.  "I  thought  it  was  my  wife,  and 
that  something  had  gone  wrong." 

The  surprise  sharpening  his  tone  did  away  with 

an 


324  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

the  doubt  in  the  mind  of  the  hidden  listener.  She 
had  said  to  herself  that  the  woman  was  here  by  ap- 
pointment, and  that  this  hour  had  been  chosen  be- 
cause the  meeting  was  to  be  secret. 

"I  wanted  you  to  think  so,  and  to  come  straight 
to  this  place,"  returned  the  once  familiar  voice. 
"Don,  I've  travelled  from  San  Francisco  to  see  you. 
Do  say  you  are  glad!" 

"I  can't,"  the  man  answered.  "I'm  not  glad. 
You  tried  to  ruin  me.  You  tried  in  a  coward's  way. 
You  struck  me  in  the  back.  I  hoped  never  to  see 
you  again.  How  did  you  find  me?" 

"I've  known  for  a  long  time  that  you  were  in 
Texas,"  said  Madalena.  "Lady  Annesley-Seton 
and  I  kept  up  a  correspondence  for  months  after 
you — sent  me  away  so  cruelly,  in  such  a  hurry, 
believing  hateful  things,  though  you  had  no  proof. 
She  wrote  that  'Mr.  and  Mrs.  Nelson  Smith*  would 
probably  never  come  back  to  England  to  settle,  as 
she'd  heard  from  a  Mrs.  Waldo  that  they'd  gone  to 
live  in  Texas.  She  asked  if  I  knew  whether  'Nelson 
Smith*  had  lost  his  money.  I  forgot  to  answer  that 
question  when  I  answered  the  letter.  But  when  she 
said  'Texas'  I  felt  sure  you  must  be  somewhere  in 
this  part.  I  remembered  your  telling  me  about 
the  ranch  that  consumptive  gambler  left  to  you  on 
the  Mexican  frontier." 

"What  a  fool  I  was  to  tell  you ! "  Knight  exclaimed, 
roughly. 

The  words  and  his  way  of  flinging  them  at  her 
were  like  a  box  on  the  ear;  and  Annesley,  lying  in  her 


THE  ALLEGORY  325 

hammock,  heard  with  a  thrill  of  pleasure.  She  was 
ashamed  of  the  thrill,  and  ashamed  (because  sud- 
denly awakened  to  the  realization)  that  she  was  eaves- 
dropping. 

But  it  seemed  impossible  that  she  should  break 
in  upon  this  talk  and  reveal  her  presence.  She  felt 
that  she  could  not  do  it;  though,  searching  her  con- 
science, she  was  not  sure  whether  she  clung  to  silence 
because  it  was  the  lesser  of  two  evils  or  because  she 
longed  with  a  terrible  longing  to  know  whether  these 
two  would  patch  up  their  old  partnership. 

"If  you  knew  why  I  have  come  all  these  miles, 
maybe  you  would  not  be  so  hard,"  Madalena 
pleaded. 

"That  I  can't  tell  until  I  do  hear,"  said  Knight, 
dryly. 

"I  am  going  to  explain,"  she  tried  to  soothe  him. 
"A  great  thing  has  happened.  I  can  be  rich  and 
live  easily  all  the  rest  of  my  years  if  I  choose.  But — 
I  wanted  to  see  you  before  deciding. 

"I  arrived  in  El  Paso  yesterday,  and  went  to  the 
Paso  del  Norte  Hotel,  to  inquire  about  you.  I  was 
almost  certain  you  would  have  taken  back  your  own 
name,  because  I  knew  you  used  to  be  known  by  it 
when  you  stayed  in  Texas.  I  soon  found  out  that 
I'd  guessed  right.  I  heard  you'd  stopped  at  that 
hotel  last  year  on  the  way  to  your  ranch.  I  hired  a 
motor-car  and  came  here  to-day;  but  I  didn't  let  the 
man  bring  me  to  the  house.  I  didn't  want  to  dash 
up  and  advertise  myself. 

"I  questioned  some  of  your  cowmen.     They  said 


326  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

you'd  gone  off,  and  would  be  getting  back  at  night 
in  your  automobile,  not  earlier  than  ten  and  maybe 
a  good  deal  later.  So  I  waited.  The  car  I  hired  is 
a  covered  one,  and  I  sat  in  it,  a  long  way  from  the 
house  out  of  sight  behind  a  little  rising  of  the  land. 
Perhaps  you  call  it  a  hill." 

"We  do,"  said  Knight. 

"I  brought  some  food  and  wine.  The  chauffeur's 
there  with  the  car  now.  He  has  cigarettes,  and 
doesn't  mind  if  we  stay  all  night." 

"I  mind,"  Knight  cut  her  short.  "You  can't 
stay  all  night.  The  road's  good  enough  with  such  a 
moon  for  you  to  get  back  to  El  Paso.  You'd  better 
start  so  as  to  reach  there  before  she  sets." 

"Wait  till  you  hear  why  I've  come  before  you 
advise  me  to  hurry!"  the  Countess  protested. 
"There's  no  danger  of  our  being  disturbed,  is  there? 
Where  is  your  wife?" 

"In  bed  and  asleep,  I  trust." 

"I'm  glad.  Then  will  you  sit  on  the  top  of  these 
steps  in  this  heavenly  moonlight  and  let  me  tell  you 
things  that  are  important  to  me?  Perhaps  you  may 
think  they  are  important  to  you  as  well.  Who 
knows?" 

"I  know.  Nothing  you  can  have  to  say  will  be 
important  to  me.  I  won't  sit  down,  thank  you. 
I've  been  sitting  in  my  car  for  hours.  I  prefer  to 
stand." 

"Very  well.  But — how  hard  you  are!  Even 
now,  you  won't  believe  I  was  innocent  of  that  thing 
you  accused  me  of  doing?" 


THE  ALLEGORY  327 

"I  think  now  what  I  thought  then.  You  were 
not  innocent,  but  guilty.  You  were  just  a  plain, 
ordinary  sneak,  Madalena,  because  you  were  jeal- 
ous and  spiteful." 

"It  is  not  true!  Spiteful  against  you!  It  was 
never  in  my  heart  to  lie.  Jealous,  perhaps.  But 
that  is  not  to  say  I  wrote  the  letter  you  believe  I 
wrote.  You  didn't  give  me  time  to  try  and  prove 
I  did  not  write  the  letter.  You  accused  me  bru- 
tally. You  ordered  me  out  of  England,  with  threats. 
I  obeyed  because  I  was  heartbroken,  not  because  I 
was  afraid." 

"Why  trouble  to  excuse  yourself?"  he  asked. 
"It's  not  worth  the  time  it  takes.  If  you've  come 
to  tell  me  anything  in  particular,  tell  it,  and  let's 
make  an  end." 

"I  have  an  offer  of  marriage  from  a  millionaire," 
the  Countess  announced  in  a  clear,  triumphant 
tone. 

"Which  no  doubt  you  accepted,  not  to  say  snapped 
at." 

"Not  yet.  I  put  him  off,  because  I  wanted  to  see 
you  before  I  answered." 

"You  flatter  me!"  Knight  laughed,  not  pleas- 
antly. "If  you've  come  from  San  Francisco  to  get 
my  advice  on  that  subject,  I  can  give  it  while  you 
count  three.  Make  sure  of  the  unfortunate  wretch 
before  he  changes  his  mind." 

"Ah,  if  I  could  think  that  your  harshness  comes 
from  just  a  little — ever  so  little,  jealousy!"  Mada- 
lena sighed.  "He  won't  change  his  mind.  There 


328  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

« 
is  no  danger.     He  is  old,  and  I  seem  a  young  girl  to 

him.    He  adores  me.     He  is  on  his  knees!" 

"Bad  for  rheumatism!" 

"He  thinks  I  am  the  most  wonderful  creature 
who  ever  lived.  I  met  him  through  my  work.  He 
came  from  a  friend  of  his  who  told  him  about  my 
crystal,  and  about  me,  too." 

"You  are  still  working  the  crystal?" 

"But,  of  course!  It  has  always  given  me  the  path 
to  success.  If  I  marry  this  man  I  shall  be  able  to 
rest." 

"On  your  laurels — such  as  they  are!" 

"On  his  money.     He  can't  live  many  years." 

"You  are  an  affectionate  fiancee!" 

"  I  am  not  a  fiancee  yet.  Not  till  I  give  my  answer 
And  that  depends  on  you.  .  .  .  Oh,  Don,  surely 
you  must  be  sick  of  this — this  existence,  for  it  is  not 
life!  I  know  you  are  angry  with  me,  but  you  can't 
hate  me  really.  It  is  not  possible  for  a  man  with 
blood  in  his  body  to  hate  a  woman  who  loves  him  as 
I  love  you. 

"I  have  tried  to  get  over  it.  At  first  I  thought 
I  was  succeeding.  But  no,  when  the  reaction  came, 
I  found  that  I  cared  more  than  ever.  We  were  born 
for  each  other.  It  must  be  so,  for  without  you  I  am 
only  half  alive.  I  haven't  come  for  your  advice, 
Don,  but  to  make  you  an  offer.  Oh,  not  an  offer  of 
myself.  I  should  not  dare,  as  you  feel  now.  And 
it  is  not  an  offer  from  me  only;  it  is  from  a  great 
person  who  has  something  to  give  which  is  worth 
your  accepting,  even  if  my  love  is  not!" 


THE  ALLEGORY  329 

"You've  got  in  touch  with  him,  have  you?"  Knight 
broke  into  the  rushing  torrent  of  her  words  as  a  man 
might  take  a  plunge  into  a  cataract. 

"Why  not?"  she  answered.  "I  didn't  seek  him 
out.  It  was  he  who  sought  me." 

"You  don't  know  how  to  speak  the  truth,  Mada- 
lena!  You  said  you  found  me  through  Lady  Annes- 
ley-Seton  hearing  from  Mrs.  Waldo,  whereas  you 
wrote  to  Paul  Van  Vreck." 

"You  do  me  injustice — always!  I  did  hear  from 
Constance.  Then  I — merely  ventured  to  write  and 
ask  Mr.  Van  Vreck  if  he  kept  up  communication 
with  you,  and — — " 

"You  said  in  your  letter  to  him  that  you  knew 
where  I  was,  and  gave  him  to  understand  that  we, 
were  in  touch  with  each  other,  or  he  would  have  let 
out  nothing." 

"He  has  written  and  told  you  this!"  She  spoke 
breathlessly,  as  if  in  fear. 

"Ah,  you  give  yourself  away!  No,  I  haven't 
heard  from  Van  Vreck  since  I  saw  him  in  New  York, 
and  thought  I  convinced  him  that  my  working  days 
for  him  were  over.  I  simply  guessed — knowing  you 
— what  you  would  do." 

"I  may  have  mentioned  Texas,"  Madalena  ad- 
mitted. "I  supposed  he  knew  where  you  were. 
I  couldn't  have  told  him,  because  I  didn't  know. 
But  he  wrote  and  suggested  I  should  use  my  influence 
with  you  to  reconsider  your  decision.  Those  were 
his  words. " 

"How  much  has  he  paid  you  for  coming  here?" 


330  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

"Nothing.  As  if  I  would  take  money  for  coming 
to  you  /" 

"You  have  taken  it  for  some  queer  things,  and 
will  again  if  you  don't  settle  down  to  private  life 
with  your  millionaire.  .  .  .  It's  no  use,  Mada- 
lena.  Go  back  to  San  Francisco.  Send  in  your  bill 
to  Van  Vreck.  Tell  him  there's  nothing  doing. 
And  make  up  your  mind  to  marriage." 

"But,  Don,  you  haven't  heard  what  he  offers." 

"It  can't  be  more  than  he  offered  me  himself 
when  I  saw  him  in  New  York " 

"  It  is  more.  He  says  that  particularly.  He  raises 
the  offer  from  last  time.  It  is  three  times  higher! 
Think  what  that  means.  Oh,  Don,  it  means  life, 
real  life,  not  stagnation!  I  would  give  up  safety 
and  a  million  to  be  with  you — as  your  partner  again, 
your  humble  partner. 

"Here,  on  this  bleak  ranch,  it  is  like  death — a 
death  of  dullness.  I  know  what  you  must  be  suffer- 
ing because  you  are  obstinate,  because  you  have 
taken  a  resolve,  and  are  determined  not  to  break  it. 
You  are  afraid  it  will  be  weakness  to  break  it.  There 
can  be  no  other  reason. 

"I  have  asked  questions  about  your  life  here.  I 
have  learned  things.  I  know  she  is  cold  as  ice.  If 
you  stay  you  will  degenerate.  You  will  become  a 
clod. 

"Leave  this  hideous  gray  place.  Leave  that 
woman  who  treats  you  like  a  dog.  Let  the  ranch 
be  hers.  Send  her  money.  You  will  have  it  to 
spare.  She  can  divorce  you,  and  you  will  be  freed 


THE  ALLEGORY  331 

forever  from  the  one  great  mistake  you  ever  made. 
As  for  me " 

"As  for  you — be  silent!"  The  command  struck 
like  a  whiplash.  "You  are  not  worthy  to  speak  of 
*that  woman,'  as  you  call  her.  If  I  did  what  you 
deserve,  I'd  send  you  off  without  another  word — 
turn  my  back  on  you  and  let  you  go.  But — "  he 
drew  in  his  breath  sharply,  then  went  on  as  if  he  had 
taken  some  tonic  decision — "I  want  you  to  under- 
stand why,  if  Paul  Van  Vreck  offered  me  all  his 
money,  and  you  offered  me  the  love  of  all  the  women 
on  earth  with  your  own,  I  shouldn't  be  tempted  to 
accept. 

"It's  because  of  'that  woman' — who  is  my  wife. 
It  may  be  true  that  she  treats  me  like  a  dog,  for  she 
wouldn't  be  cruel  to  the  meanest  cur.  But  I'd 
rather  be  her  dog  than  any  other  woman's  master. 

"So  you  see  now.  It's  come  to  that  with  me. 
I  won  her  love  and  married  her  for  my  own  advan- 
tage. I  lost  her  love  because  she  found  me  out — 
through  you.  Mild  justice  that,  perhaps!  But 
all  the  same,  getting  her  for  mine  has  been  for  my 
advantage.  In  a  different  way  from  what  I  planned, 
but  ten  thousand  times  greater.  Though  she's 
taken  her  love  from  me,  she's  given  me  back  my 
soul.  Nothing  can  rob  me  of  that  so  long  as  I  run 
straight. 

"And  I  tell  you,  Madalena,  this  ranch,  where  I'm 
working  out  some  kind  of  expiation  and  maybe  re- 
demption, is  God's  earth  for  me.  Now  do  you 
understand?" 


332  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

For  an  instant  the  woman  was  silent.  Then  she 
broke  into  loud  sobbing,  which  she  did  not  try  to 
check. 

"You  are  a  fool,  Don!"  she  wept.     "A  fool!" 

"Maybe.  But  I'm  not  the  devil's  fool  as  I  used 
to  be.  Don't  cry.  You  might  be  heard.  Come. 
It's  time  to  go.  We've  said  all  we  have  to  say  to 
each  other  except  good-bye — if  that's  not  mock- 
ery." 

Madalena  dried  her  tears,  still  sobbing  under  her 
breath. 

"At  least  take  me  to  the  automobile,"  she  said. 
"Don't  send  me  off  alone  in  the  night.  I  am 
afraid." 

"There's  nothing  to  be  afraid  of,"  Knight  an- 
swered, the  flame  of  his  fierceness  burnt  down.  "But 
I'll  go  with  you,  and  put  you  on  the  way  back  to 
El  Paso.  Come  along!" 

As  he  spoke,  he  started,  and  Madalena  was  forced 
to  go  with  him,  forced  to  keep  up  with  his  long  strides 
if  she  would  not  be  left  behind. 

When  they  had  gone  Annesley  lay  motion- 
less, as  though  she  were  under  a  spell.  The  man's 
words  to  the  other  woman  wove  the  spell  which  bound 
her,  listening  as  they  repeated  themselves  in  her 
mind.  Again  and  again  she  heard  them,  as  they  had 
fallen  from  his  lips. 

His  expiation — perhaps  his  redemption — here  on* 
his  bit  of  "God's  earth"     .     .     .     "It  may  be  true 
that  she  treats  me  like  a  dog.     .     .     .     But  I'd 
rather  be  her  dog  than  any  other  woman's  master. 


THE  ALLEGORY  333 

.  .  .  And  this  was  Easter  eve,  a  year  to  the  night 
since  his  martyrdom  began! 

Something  seemed  to  seize  Annesley  by  the  hand 
and  break  the  bonds  that  had  held  her,  something 
strong  although  invisible.  She  sat  up  with  a  faint 
cry,  as  of  one  awakened  from  a  dream,  and  slipped 
out  of  the  hammock.  There  was  a  dim  idea  in  her 
mind  that  she  must  go  along  the  road  where  they 
had  gone,  so  as  to  meet  Knight  on  his  way  back. 
She  did  not  know  what  she  should  say  to  him,  or 
whether  she  could  say  anything  at  all;  but  the  some- 
thing which  had  taken  her  hand  and  snatched  her  out 
of  the  hammock  dragged  her  on  and  on. 

At  first  she  obeyed  the  force  blindly. 

"I  must  see  him!  I  must  see  him!"  The  words 
spoke-  themselves  in  her  head.  But  when  she  had 
hurried  out  of  the  enclosure  walled  in  by  the  cactus 
hedge,  the  brilliant  moonlight  seemed  to  pierce  her 
brain,  and  make  a  cold,  calm  appeal  to  her  reason. 

"You  can't  tell  him  what  you  have  heard,"  it 
said.  "  He  would  be  humiliated.  Or  " — the  thought 
was  sharp  as  a  gimlet — "what  if  he  saw  you,  and 
knew  you  were  listening?  What  if  he  talked  just 
for  effect?  He  is  so  clever!  He  is  subtle  enough  for 
that.  And  wouldn't  it  be  more  like  the  man,  than 
to  say  what  he  said  sincerely  ?" 

She  stopped,  and  was  thankful  not  to  see  her  hus- 
band returning,  There  was  time  to  go  back  if  she 
hurried.  And  she  must  hurry!  If  he  had  seen  her 
in  her  hammock,  and  made  that  theatrical  attempt 
to  play  upon  her  feelings,  he  would  laugh  at  his  own 


334  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

success  if  she  followed  him.  And  if  he  had  not  seen 
her,  and  were  in  earnest,  it  would  be  best — indeed 
the  only  right  way — not  to  let  him  guess  that  the 
scene  on  the  veranda  steps  had  had  a  witness. 

Annesley  turned  to  fly  back  faster  than  she  had 
come.  But  passing  the  cactus  hedge  her  dress 
caught.  It  was  as  if  the  hedge  sentiently  took  hold 
of  her. 

She  bent  down  to  free  the  thin  white  material; 
and  suddenly  colour  blazed  up  to  her  eyes  in  the  rain 
of  silver  moonlight.  The  buds  had  opened  since  she 
noticed  them  last. 

No  longer  was  the  hedge  a  grim  barricade  of  stiff, 
dark  sticks.  Each  stalk  had  turned  into  a  tall, 
straight  flame  of  lambent  rose.  From  a  dead  thing 
of  dreary  ugliness  it  had  become  a  thing  of  living 
beauty. 

Knight's  allegory! 

He  had  said,  perhaps  she  might  understand  when 
the  time  came;  and  perhaps  not. 

She  did  understand.  But  she  had  not  faith  to 
believe  that  the  miracle  could  repeat  itself  in  life— 
her  life  and  Knight's.  She  shut  her  eyes  to  the 
thought,  and  when  she  had  freed  her  dress  ran  very 
fast  to  the  house. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 
THE  THREE  WORDS 

KNIGHT  was  generally  far  away  long  before  Annes- 
ley  was  up  in  the  morning,  and  often  he  did  not  come 
in  till  evening.  She  thought  that  on  Easter  Day, 
however,  he  would  perhaps  not  go  far.  She  half  ex- 
pected that  he  would  linger  about  the  house  or  sit 
reading  on  the  veranda;  and  she  could  not  resist  the 
temptation  to  put  on  one  of  the  dresses  he  had  liked 
in  England. 

It  was  a  little  passe  and  old-fashioned,  but  he 
would  not  know  this.  What  he  might  remember 
was  that  she  had  worn  it  at  Valley  House. 

And  the  wish  to  say  something,  as  if  accidentally, 
about  the  flaming  miracle  of  the  cactus  hedge  was  as 
persistent  in  her  heart  as  the  desire  of  a  crocus  to  push 
through  the  earth  to  the  sunshine  on  a  spring  morn- 
ing. She  did  not  know  whether  the  wish  would  sur- 
vive the  meeting  with  her  husband.  She  thought 
that  would  depend  as  much  upon  him  as  upon  her 
mood. 

But  luncheon  time  came  and  Knight  did  not 
appear. 

Annesley  lunched  alone,  in  her  gray  frock.  Even 
on  days  when  Knight  was  with  her,  and  they  sat 

335 


336  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

through  their  meals  formally,  it  was  the  same  as  if 
she  were  alone,  for  they  spoke  little,  and  each  was  in 
the  habit  of  bringing  a  book  to  the  table. 

But  she  had  not  meant  it  to  be  so  on  this  Easter 
Day.  Even  if  she  did  not  speak  of  the  blossoming 
of  the  cactus,  she  had  planned  to  show  Knight  that 
she  was  willing  to  begin  a  conversation.  To  talk 
at  meals  would  be  a  way  out  of  "treating  him  like  a 
dog." 

The  pretty  frock  and  the  good  intention  were 
wasted.  Late  in  the  afternoon  she  heard  from  one 
of  the  line  riders  whom  she  happened  to  see  that 
something  had  gone  wrong  with  a  windmill  which 
gave  water  to  the  pumps  for  the  cattle,  and  that  her 
husband  was  attending  to  it. 

"He's  a  natural  born  engineer,"  said  the  man, 
whose  business  as  "line  rider"  was  to  keep  up  the 
wire  fencing  from  one  end  of  the  ranch  to  the  other. 
"I  don't  know  how  much  he  knows,  but  I  know  what 
he  can  do.  Queer  thing,  ma'am!  There  don't  seem 
to  be  much  that  Mike  Donaldson  can't  do!" 

Annesley  smiled  to  hear  Knight  called  "Mike" 
by  one  of  his  employees.  She  knew  that  he  was 
popular,  but  never  before  had  she  felt  personal 
pleasure  in  the  men's  tributes  of  affection. 

To-day  she  felt  a  thrill.  Her  heart  was  warm  with 
the  spring  and  the  miracle  of  the  cactus  hedge,  and 
memories  of  impetuous — seemingly  impetuous — 
words  of  last  night. 

If  she  could  have  seen  Knight  she  would  have 
spoken  of  his  allegory;  and  that  small  opening  might 


THE  THREE  WORDS  337 

have  let  sunlight  into  their  darkness.  But  he  did  not 
come  even  to  dinner;  and  tired  of  waiting,  and  weary 
from  a  sleepless  night,  she  went  to  bed. 

Next  morning  a  man  arrived  who  wished  to  buy  a 
bunch  of  Donaldson's  cattle,  which  were  beginning 
to  be  famous.  He  stayed  several  days;  and  when  he 
left  Knight  had  business  at  the  copper  mine — 
business  that  concerned  the  sinking  of  a  new  shaft, 
which  took  him  back  and  forth  nearly  every  day 
for  a  week.  By  and  by  the  cactus  flowers  began 
to  fade,  and  Annesley  had  never  found  an  oppor- 
tunity of  mentioning  them,  or  what  they  might 
signify. 

When  she  met  Knight  his  manner  was  as  usual: 
kind,  unobtrusive,  slightly  stiff,  as  though  he  were 
embarrassed — though  he  never  showed  signs  of  em- 
barrassment with  any  one  else.  She  could  hardly 
believe  that  she  had  not  dreamed  those  words  over- 
heard in  the  moonlight. 

Week  after  week  slipped  away.  The  one  excite- 
ment at  Las  Cruces  Ranch  was  the  fighting  across 
the  border;  the  great  "scare"  at  El  Paso,  and  the 
stories  of  small  yet  sometimes  tragic  raids  made  by 
bands  of  cattle  stealers  upon  American  ranches  which 
touched  the  Rio  Grande.  The  water  was  low.  This 
made  private  marauding  expeditions  easier,  and  the 
men  of  Las  Cruces  Ranch  were  prepared  for  any- 
thing. 

One  night  in  May  there  was  a  sandstorm,  which  as 
usual  played  strange  tricks  with  Annesley's  nerves. 


338  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

She  could  never  grow  used  to  these  storms,  and  the 
moaning  of  the  hot  wind  seemed  to  her  a  voice  that 
wailed  for  coming  trouble.  Knight  had  been  away 
on  one  of  his  motoring  expeditions  to  the  Organ 
Mountains,  and  though  he  had  told  the  Chinese  boy 
that  he  would  be  back  for  dinner,  he  did  not  come. 
Doors  and  windows  were  closed  against  the  blowing 
sand,  but  they  could  not  shut  out  the  voice  of  the 
wind. 

After  dinner  Annesley  tried  to  read  a  new  book 
from  the  library  at  El  Paso,  but  between  her  eyes 
and  the  printed  page  would  float  the  picture  of  a 
small,  open  automobile  and  its  driver  lost  in  clouds 
of  yellow  sand. 

Why  should  she  care?  The  man  was  used  to 
roughing  it.  He  liked  adventures.  He  was  afraid 
of  nothing,  and  nothing  ever  hurt  him.  But  she 
did  care.  She  seemed  to  feel  the  sting  of  the  sharp 
grains  of  sand  on  cheeks  and  eyes. 

She  was  sitting  in  her  own  room,  as  she  was  accus- 
tomed to  do  in  the  evening  if  she  were  not  out  on  the 
veranda — the  pretty  room  which  Knight  had  ex- 
travagantly made  possible  for  her,  with  chintzes  and 
furnishings  from  the  best  shops  in  El  Paso.  On  this 
evening,  however,  she  set  both  doors  wide  open, 
one  which  led  into  the  living  room,  another  leading 
into  a  corridor  or  hall.  She  could  not  fail  to  hear 
her  husband  when  he  came,  even  if  he  left  his  noisy 
car  at  the  garage  and  walked  to  the  house. 

A  travelling  clock  on  the  mantelpiece — Constance 
Annesley-Seton's  gift — struck  nine.  The  girl  looked 


THE  THREE  WORDS  339 

up  at  the  first  stroke,  wondering  if  serious  accidents 
were  likely  to  happen  in  sandstorms;  and  before  the 
last  note  had  ended  she  heard  steps  in  the  patio. 

"He  has  come! "  she  thought,  with  a  throb  of  relief 
which  shamed  her.  But  the  step  was  not  like 
Knight's.  It  was  hurried  and  nervous;  and  as  she 
told  herself  this  there  sounded  a  loud  knock  at  the 
door. 

There  was  an  electric  bell,  which  Knight  had 
fitted  up  with  his  own  hands,  but  it  was  not  visible 
at  night.  No  one  except  herself  could  hear  this 
knocking,  for  the  servants'  quarters  were  at  the 
far  end  of  the  bungalow.  A  little  frightened,  recall- 
ing stories  of  cattle  thieves  and  things  they  had  done, 
Annesley  went  into  the  hall. 

"Who  is  there?  "  she  cried,  her  face  near  the  closed 
door,  which  locked  itself  in  shutting.  If  a  man's 
voice — the  voice  of  a  stranger — should  reply  in 
"Mex,"  or  with  a  foreign  accent,  the  girl  did  not  in- 
tend to  let  hun  in.  A  man's  voice  did  reply,  but 
neither  in  "Mex"  nor  with  a  foreign  accent.  It  said: 
"  My  name  is  Paul  Van  Vreck.  Open  quickly,  please. 
I  may  be  followed." 

Annesley 's  heart  jumped;  but  without  hesitation 
she  pulled  back  the  latch,  and  as  she  opened  the  door 
a  rush  of  sand-laden  wind  wrenched  it  from  her  hand. 
She  staggered  away  as  the  door  swung  free,  and  there 
was  just  tune  to  see  a  tall,  thin  figure  slip  in  like  a 
shadow  before  the  light  of  the  hanging-lamp  blew  out. 
The  girl  and  the  newcomer  were  in  the  dark  save 
for  a  yellow  ray  that  filtered  into  the  hall  from  her 


340  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

room,  but  she  saw  him  stoop  to  place  a  bag  or  bundle 
on  the  floor,  and  then,  pulling  the  door  to  against  the 
wind,  slammed  it  shut  with  a  click. 

Having  done  this,  the  tall  shadow  bent  to  pick  up 
what  it  had  laid  down. 

"Thank  you,  Mrs.  Donaldson,  for  letting  me  in," 
said  the  most  charming  voice  Annesley  had  ever 
heard — more  charming  even  than  Knight's.  "Evi- 
dently you've  heard  your  husband  mention  me,  or 
you  might  have  kept  me  out  there  parleying,  if 
you're  alone,  for  these  are  stirring  times." 

"Yes,  I — I've  heard  you  mentioned  by — many 
people,"  the  girl  answered,  stammering  like  a  nervous 
child.  "Won't  you  come  in — into  the  living  room? 
Not  the  room  with  the  open  door.  That's  mine. 
It's  another,  farther  along  the  hall.  I'm  sorry  my, 
husband's  out." 

As  she  talked  she  wondered  at  herself.  She  knew 
Van  Vreck  for  a  super  thief.  He  did  not  steal  with 
his  own  hands,  but  he  commanded  other  hands  to 
steal,  and  that  was  even  worse.  Or  she  had  thought 
,it  worse  in  her  husband's  case,  and  for  more  than  a 
year  she  had  punished  him  for  his  sins.  Yet  here 
she  was  almost  welcoming  this  man. 

She  did  not  understand  why  she  felt — even  without 
seeing  him  except  as  a  shadow — that  she  would  find 
herself  wishing  to  do  whatever  he  might  ask.  It 
must  be,  she  thought,  the  influence  of  his  voice. 
She  had  heard  Paul  Van  Vreck  spoken  of  as  an  old 
man,  but  the  voice  was  the  voice  of  magnetic  youth. 

He  opened  the  door  of  the  living  room,  and,  carry- 


THE  THREE  WORDS  341 

!ng  his  bundle,  followed  her  as  she  entered.  There 
was  only  one  lamp  in  this  room,  a  tall  reading-lamp 
with  a  green  silk  shade,  which  stood  on  a  table,  its 
heavy  base  surrounded  by  books  and  magazines.  A 
good  light  for  reading  was  thrown  from  under  the 
green  shade  on  to  the  table,  but  the  rest  of  the  room 
was  of  a  cool,  green  dimness;  and,  looking  up  with 
irresistible  curiosity  at  the  face  of  her  night  visitor, 
it  floated  pale  on  a  vague  background,  like  a  portrait 
by  Whistler. 

It  was  unnaturally  white,  the  girl  thought,  and — 
yes,  it  was  old!  But  it  was  a  wonderful  face,  and  the 
eyes  illumined  it;  immense  eyes,  though  deepset  and 
looking  out  of  shadowed  hollows  under  level  brows 
black  as  ink.  Annesley  had  never  seen  eyes  so  like 
strange  jewels,  lit  from  behind. 

That  simile  came  to  her,  and  she  smiled,  for  it  was 
appropriate  that  this  jewel  expert  should  have  jewels 
for  eyes.  They  were  dark  topazes,  and  from  them 
gazed  the  spirit  of  the  man  with  a  compelling  charm. 

Under  a  rolled-back  wave  of  iron-gray  hair  he  had  a 
broad  forehead,  high  cheekbones,  a  pointed  promi- 
nent chin,  a  mouth  both  sweet  and  humorous,  like 
that  of  some  enchanting  woman;  but  its  sweetness 
was  contradicted  by  a  hawk  nose.  Had  it  not  been 
for  that  nose  he  would  have  been  handsome. 

"I  guessed  by  the  startled  tone  of  your  voice,  when 
you  asked,  'Who  is  there?*  that  your  husband  was 
out,"  explained  the  shadow,  now  transformed  by  the 
light  into  an  extremely  tall,  extremely  thin  man  in 
gray  travelling  clothes.  "I  had  a  moment  of  re- 


542  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

pentance  at  troubling  a  lady  alone;  but,  you  see,  the 
case  was  urgent/' 

He  had  carelessly  tossed  his  Panama  hat  on  to  the 
table,  but  kept  the  black  bag,  which  he  now  held  out 
with  a  smile. 

"Not  a  big  bag,  is  it?  And  so  common,  it  wouldn't 
be  likely  to  tempt  a  thief.  But  it  holds  what  is 
worth — if  it  has  a  price — about  hah*  a  million  dol- 
lars." 

"Oh!"  exclaimed  Annesley.  She  looked  horrified; 
and  through  the  green  gloom  the  old  man  read  her  face. 

"I  see!"  he  said,  with  a  laugh  in  his  young  voice. 
"You  have  heard  the  great  secret!  That  makes 
another  who  knows.  But  I'm  not  afraid  you'll  throw 
me  to  the  dogs.  You  wouldn't  do  that  even  if  you 
weren't  Donaldson's  wife.  Being  his  wife,  you  could 
not." 

"My  husband  has  told  me  no  secret  about  you,, 
none  at  all,"  the  girl  protested,  defending  Knight 
involuntarily.  "I  beg  you  to  belie\e  tha";,  Mr.  Van 
Vreck." 

"I  do  believe  it.  If  there's  one  thing  I  pride  my- 
self on,  it's  being  a  judge  of  character.  That's  why 
I've  made  a  success  of  life.  You  wouldn't  lie,  per- 
haps not  even  to  save  the  one  you  love  best.  I 
believe  that  he  did  not  tell  you  the  secret.  Yet  I'm 
certain  you  know  it.  I  suppose  other  discoveries 
you  must  have  made  gave  you  supernatural  intui- 
tion. You  guessed." 

Annesley  did  not  answer.  Yet  she  could  not  take 
her  eyes  from  his. 


THE  THREE  WORDS  343 

"You  needn't  mind  confessing.  But  I  won't 
catechize  you.  I'll  take  it  for  granted  that  what 
Donaldson  knows  you  know — not  in  detail,  in  the 
rough.  .  .  .  In  this  bag  are  six  gold  images  set 
with  precious  stones.  They  are  of  the  time  of  the 
Incas,  and  they've  been  up  till  now  the  most  precious 
things  in  Mexico.  From  now  on  they  will  be  among 
the  most  precious  things  in  Paul  Van  Vreck's  secret 
collection. 

"Some  weeks  ago  I  hoped  that  Donaldson  would 
get  them  for  me.  He  refused,  so  I  had  to  go  myself. 
I  couldn't  trust  any  one  else,  though  the  only  diffi- 
culty was  getting  to  Central  Mexico  with  Con- 
stitutionals raging  on  one  side  and  Federals  on  the 
other.  A  man  promised  to  deliver  the  goods  to  my 
messenger.  I've  been  bargaining  over  these  things 
for  years.  But,  as  I  said,  Don  wouldn't  go,  so  I  had 
to  do  the  job  myself.  You  see,  Mrs.  Donaldson, 
your  husband  is  the  only  honest  man  I  ever  came 
across." 

"Honest!"  The  exclamation  burst  from  Annes- 
ley's  lips. 

"Yes.  Honest  is  the  word.  I  might  add  two 
others:  'true'  and  'loyal."  Paul  Van  Vreck  held 
her  with  his  strange,  straight  look,  commanding,  yet 
amused.  "That  is  the  opinion,"  he  added  after  a 
pause,  "of  a  very  old  friend.  It's  worth  its  weight 
in — gold  images  " 

The  girl  gave  him  no  answer.  But  the  effort  of 
keeping  her  face  under  control  made  lips  and  eyelids 
quiver. 


344  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

"May  I  sit  down,  Mrs.  Donaldson?"  Van  Vreck 
asked  in  a  tone  which  changed  to  commonplaceness — 
if  his  voice  could  ever  be  commonplace.  "I'm  a 
fugitive,  and  have  had  a  run  for  my  money,  so  to 
speak.  I'm  seeking  sanctuary.  Also  I  came  in  the 
hope  of  trying  my  eloquence  on  Donaldson.  But 
now  I've  seen  you,  I  will  not  do  that.  In  future  he's 
safe  from  me,  I  promise  you." 

"Oh!"  Annesley  faltered.  And  then:  "Thank 
you!"  came  out,  grudgingly.  How  astonishing  that 
she  should  thank  Paul  Van  Vreck,  the  monster  of 
wickedness  and  secrecy  she  had  pictured,  for  "spar- 
ing" her  husband — her  husband  whom  he  called 
loyal,  true,  and  honest;  whom  she  had  called  in  her 
heart  a  thief! 

"Do  sit  down,"  she  hurried  on,  hypnotized. 
"  Forgive  my  not  asking  you.  I 

"I  understand,"  he  soothed  her.  "I've  taken 
advantage  of  you — sprung  a  surprise,  as  Don  would 
say,  and  then  turned  on  the  tortures  of  the  Inquisi- 
tion. Aren't  you  going  to  sit?  I  can't,  you  know, 
if  you  don't." 

"I  thought  you  might  like  something  to  eat," 
the  girl  stammered.  "I  could  call  our  cook— 

"No,  thank  you,"  replied  Van  Vreck.  "I'm 
peculiar  in  more  ways  than  one.  I  never  eat  at 
night.  I  live  mostly  on  milk,  water,  fruit,  and  nuts. 
That's  why  I  feel  forty  at  seventy-two.  I  give  out 
that  I'm  frail — an  invalid — that  I  spend  much  time 
in  nursing  homes.  This  is  my  joke  on  a  public  which 
has  no  business  to  be  curious  about  my  habits. 


THE  THREE  WORDS  345 

While  it  thinks  I'm  recuperating  in  a  nursing  home 
I — but  no  matter!  That  won't  interest  you." 

When  she  had  obediently  sat  down,  her  knees 
trembling  a  little,  Van  Vreck  drew  up  a  chair  for  him- 
self, and,  resting  his  arms  on  the  table,  leaned  across 
it  gazing  at  the  girl  with  a  queer,  humorous  benevo- 
lence. 

"How  soon  do  you  think  your  husband  will  come? " 
he  asked,  abruptly. 

"I  don't  know,"  Annesley  replied.  "He  told  our 
Chinese  boy  he'd  be  early.  I  suppose  the  sandstorm 
has  delayed  him." 

"No  doubt.     .     .     .    And  you're  worried?" 

"No-o,"  she  answered,  looking  sidewise  at  Van 
Vreck,  her  face  half  turned  from  him.  "I  don't 
think  that  I'm  worried." 

"May  I  talk  to  you  frankly  till  Don  does  come?" 
the  old  man  asked. 

"Certainly." 

"I'll  take  you  at  your  word!  .  .  .  Mrs. 
Donaldson,  when  your  husband  called  on  me  a  year 
ago  last  spring,  in  New  York,  he  said  nothing  about 
you.  I  knew  he'd  married  an  English  girl  of  good 
connections  (isn't  that  what  you  say  on  your  side?), 
and  why  he  thought  it  would  be  wise  to  marry.  But 
when  he  informed  me  that  our  association  was  to  be 
ended,  that  nothing  would  induce  him  to  continue  it, 
I  read  between  the  lines.  I'm  sharp  at  that !  I  knew 
as  well  as  if  he'd  told  me  that  he'd  fallen  in  love  with 
the  girl,  that  she'd  unexpectedly  become  the  im- 
portant factor  in  his  life,  and  that — she'd  found  out  a 


346  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

secret  she'd  never  been  meant  to  find  out:  his  secret, 
and  maybe  mine. 

"I  realized  by  his  face — the  look  in  the  eyes,  the 
tone  of  the  voice,  or  rather,  the  tonelessness  of  the 
voice — what  her  finding  out  meant  for  Don.  I  read 
by  all  signs  that  she  was  making  him  suffer  atrociously 
and  I  owed  that  girl  a  grudge.  She'd  taken  him  from 
me.  For  the  first  time  a  power  stronger  than  mine 
was  at  work;  and  yet,  things  being  as  they  were,  my 
hope  of  getting  him  back  lay  in  her." 

"What  do  you  mean? "  The  question  spoke  itself. 
Annesley's  lips  felt  cold  and  stiff.  Her  hands, 
nervously  clasped  in  her  lap,  were  cold,  too,  though 
the  shut-up  room  had  but  lately  seemed  hot  as  a 
furnace. 

"I  mean,  if  the  girl  behaved  as  I  thought  she  would 
behave — as  I  think  you  have  behaved — he  might 
grow  tired  of  her  and  the  cast-iron  coat  of  virtue  he'd 
put  on  to  please  her.  He  might  grow  tired  of  Me  on  a 
ranch  if  his  wife  made  him  eat  ashes  and  wear  sack- 
cloth. That  was  my  hope.  Well,  I  sent  a  messen- 
ger to  find  out  how  the  land  lay  a  few  weeks  ago." 

"The  Countess  de  Santiago!"  Annesley  ex- 
claimed. 

"He  told  you?" 

"No,  I  saw  her.  I — by  accident — (it  really  was  by 
accident!)  I  heard  things.  He  doesn't  know — I 
believe  he  doesn't  know — I  was  there." 

"Perhaps  that's  just  as  well.  Perhaps  not.  But 
if  I  were  you  I'd  tell  him  when  the  right  time  comes. 
The  Countess  wrote  me  she'd  had  her  journey  in 


THE  THREE  WORDS  347 

vain,  and  why.  She  said — spitefully  it  struck  me — 
that  Don  was  bewitched  by  his  wife,  a  cold,  cruel 
creature  with  ice  in  her  veins,  who  treated  him  like  a 


"She  said  that  to  you,  too?" 

"Yes,  she  said  that.  She  seemed  to  gather  the  im- 
pression. But  the  dog  stuck  to  his  kennel.  Noth- 
ing she  could  do  would  tempt  him  to  budge.  So  I 
decided  to  call  here  myself,  on  the  way  back  from 
Mexico.  I  couldn't  delay  the  trip.  A  man  was 
waiting  for  me.  And  waiting  quietly  is  difficult  in 
Mexico  just  now.  I  got  what  I  wanted,  and  crammed 
the  lot  into  this  bag,  which  cost  me  at  the  outside,  if  I 
remember,  five  dollars.  A  good  idea  of  mine  for 
putting  thieves  off  the  track.  They  expect  sane 
men  to  carry  nightgowns  and  newspapers  in  such 
bags.  I  thought  I'd  managed  so  well  that  I'd  put 
the  gang  who  follow  me  about,  generally  on  'spec/ 
off  the  track. 

"I  speak  Spanish  well.  I've  been  passing  for  a 
Mexican  lawyer  from  Chihuahua.  But  to-day  I 
caught  a  look  from  a  pair  of  eyes  in  a  train.  I  fancied 
I'd  seen  those  eyes  before — and  the  rest  of  the 
features.  Perhaps  I  imagined  it.  But  I  don't 
think  so.  I  trust  my  instinct.  I  advise  you  to! 
It's  a  tip. 

"At  El  Paso  I  bought  a  ticket  for  Albuquerque. 
The  eyes  were  behind  me.  I  got  into  the  train.  So 
did  Eyes,  and  a  friend  with  a  long  nose.  Not  into  my 
car,  however,  so  I  was  able  to  skip  out  again  as  the 
train  was  starting.  Not  a  bad  feat  for  a  man  of  my 


348  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

i 

age!  I  hope  Eyes  and  Nose,  and  any  other  features 
that  may  have  been  with  them,  travelled  on  un- 
suspectingly. But  I  can't  be  sure.  Instinct  says 
they  saw  my  trick  and  trumped  it. 

"I  oughtn't  to  have  come  here,  bringing  danger  to 
your  house,  Mrs.  Donaldson.  But  I  want  to  see 
Don,  and  I  know  he  is  afraid  neither  of  man  nor 
devil — afraid  of  nothing  in  the  world  except  one 
woman. 

"As  for  her — well,  what  I'd  heard  hadn't  pre- 
possessed me  in  her  favour.  I  sacrificed  her  for  the 
safety  of  my  golden  images  and  my  talk  with  Don. 
But  the  sound  of  your  voice  behind  the  shut  door 
broke  the  picture  I'd  made  of  that  young  woman. 
And  when  I  saw  you — well,  Mrs.  Donaldson,  I've 
already  told  you  I  don't  intend  to  exert  my  influence 
over  your  husband,  though  to  do  so  was  my  principal 
object  in  coming.  Even  if  I  did,  I  believe  yours 
would  prove  stronger.  But  if  I  could  count  on  all 
my  old  power  over  him,  I  wouldn't  use  it  now  I  have 
seen  you. 

"I  adore  myself,  and — my  specialties.  But  there 
must  be  an  unselfish  streak  in  me  which  shows  in 
moments  like  this.  I  respect  and  admire  it.  You 
may  treat  Don  like  a  dog,  but  he'd  never  be  happy 
away  from  you.  And  I  am  fool  enough  to  want  him 
to  be  happy.  This  kicked  dog  of  yours,  madame, 
happens  to  be  the  finest  fellow  I  ever  knew  or  expect 
to  know." 

"You  say  I  treat  him  like  a  dog!"  cried  Annesley, 
roused  to  anger.  "But  how  ought  I  to  treat  him? 


THE  THREE  WORDS  349 

He  came  into  my  life  in  a  way  I  thought  romantic  as 
a  fairy  tale.  It  was  a  trick — a  play  got  up  to  de- 
ceive me!  I  knew  nothing  of  his  life;  but  because 
of  the  faith  he  inspired,  I  believed  in  him.  No  one 
except  himself  could  have  broken  that  belief.  I 
would  not  have  listened  to  a  word  against  him.  But 
when  he  thought  I'd  discovered  something,  the  whole 
story  came  out.  If  I  hadn't  loved  him  so  much  to 
begin  with,  and  put  him  on  such  a  high  pedestal,  the 
fall  wouldn't  have  been  so  great — wouldn't  have 
broken  my  heart  in  pieces." 

"But  Don  gave  up  everything  pleasant  in  his 
life,  and  came  down  here  to  this  God-forsaken 
ranch — a  man  like  Michael  Donaldson,  with  a  few 
hundred  dollars  where  he'd  had  thousands — all  for 
you,"  said  Van  Vreck,  "and  he's  had  no  thought 
except  for  you  and  the  ranch  for  more  than  a  year. 
Yet  apparently  you  haven't  changed  your  opinion. 
By  Jove,  madame,  you  must  somehow,  through  your 
personality  and  God  knows  what  besides,  have  got  a 
mighty  hold  on  his  heart,  in  the  days  when  you  loved 
him,  or  he  wouldn't  have  stood  this  dog's  life,  this 
punishment  too  harsh  for  human  nature  to  bear. 
Good  Lord,  how  were  you  brought  up?  Evidently 
not  as  a  Christian." 

"My  father  was  a  clergyman,"  said  Annesley. 

"There  are  many  clergymen  who  have  got  as  far 
from  the  light  as  the  moon  from  the  earth.  I  know 
more  about  Christianity  myself  than  some  of  those 
narrow  men  with  their  'cold  Christs  and  tangled 
Trinities' !  That  is,  I  know  all  this  on  principle.  I 


350  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

don't  practise  what  I  know,  but  that's  my  affair.  Did 
Don  ever  excuse  himself  by  mentioning  the  influence 
I  brought  to  bear  on  him  when  he  was  almost  a  boy?  " 

"No,"  breathed  Annesley.  "He  didn't  excuse 
himself  at  all  except  to  tell  me  about  his  father  and 
mother,  and  a  vow  he'd  made  to  revenge  them  on 
society." 

"  It  was  like  him  not  to  whine  for  your  forgiveness." 

"He  would  never  whine,"  the  girl  agreed.  But 
she  remembered  that  night  of  confession  when  on  his 
knees  he  had  begged  her  to  forgive,  to  grant  him 
another  chance,  and  she  had  refused.  He  had  never 
asked  again.  And  he  had  struggled  alone  for  re- 
demption. 

"I  haven't  forgotten  some  early  teachings  which 
impressed  me,"  said  Paul  Van  Vreck.  "Christ  made 
a  remark  about  forgiving  till  seventy  tunes  seven. 
Did  you  forgive  Donaldson  four  hundred  and  eighty- 
nine  times,  and  draw  the  line  at  the  four  hundred  and 
ninetieth?" 

"No,  I  never  had  anything  to  forgive  him — till 
that  one  thing  came  out.  But  it  was  a  very  big 
thing.  Too  big!" 

"Too  big,  eh?  There  was  another  saying  of 
Christ's  about  those  without  sin  throwing  the  first 
stone.  Of  course  I'm  sure  you  were  without  sin.  But 
you  look  as  if  you  might  have  had  a  heart — once." 

"Oh,  I  had,  I  had!"  Tears  streamed  down 
Annesley's  pale  face,  and  she  did  not  wipe  them 
away.  "It's  dead  now  I  think." 

"Think  again.    Think  of  what  the  man  is — what 


THE  THREE  WORDS  351 

he's  proved  himself  to  be.  He's  twice  as  good  now  as 
one  of  your  best  saints  of  the  Church.  He's  purified 
by  fire.  You've  got  the  face  of  an  angel,  Mrs. 
Donaldson,  but  in  my  opinion  you're  a  wicked 
woman  unworthy  of  the  love  you've  inspired." 

"You  speak  to  me  cruelly,"  the  girl  said  through 
her  tears.  "I've  been  very  unhappy!" 

"Not  as  unhappy  as  you've  made  Don  by 
your  cruelty.  Good  heavens,  these  tender  girls 
can  be  more  cruel  when  they  set  about  punishing  us, 
than  the  hardest  man!  And  to  punish  a  fellow  like 
that  by  making  him  live  in  an  ice-house,  when  you 
could  have  done  anything  with  him  by  a  little  kind- 
ness! Don't  I  know  that? 

"I'm  the  sponsor  for  such  sins  as  Don's  committed. 
He  was  meant  to  be  straight.  But  I  got  hold  of  him 
through  an  agent,  and  caught  his  imagination  when 
that  wild  vow  was  freshly  branded  on  his  heart  or 
brain.  I  have  the  gift  of  fascination,  Mrs.  Donald- 
son. I  know  that  better  than  I  know  most  things. 
You  feel  it  to-night,  or  you  wouldn't  sit  there  letting 
me  tear  your  heart  to  pieces — what's  left  of  your 
heart.  And  I  have  an  idea  there's  a  good  deal  more 
than  you  think,  if  you  have  the  sense  to  patch  the 
bits  together. 

"I  have  fascination,  and  I've  cultivated  it.  Na- 
poleon himself  didn't  study  more  ardently  than  I  the 
art  of  whining  men.  I  won  Don.  I  appealed  to  the 
romance  in  him.  I  became  his  hero  and — slowly — I 
was  able  to  make  him  my  servant.  Not  much  of  my 
money  or  anything  else  has  ever  stuck  to  his  hands. 


352  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

He's  too  generous — too  impulsive;  though  I  taught 
him  it  was  necessary  to  control  his  impulses. 

"What  he  did,  he  did  for  love  of  me,  till  you  came 
along  and  lit  another  sort  of  fire  in  his  blood.  I  saw 
in  one  minute,  when  he  called  on  me,  what  had 
happened  to  his  soul.  It's  taken  you  more  than  a 
year  to  see,  though  he's  lived  for  you  and  would  have 
died  for  you.  Great  Heaven,  young  woman,  you 
ought  to  be  on  your  knees  before  a  miracle  of  God! 
Instead,  you've  mounted  a  marble  pedestal  and  wor- 
shipped your  own  purity!" 

Annesley  bowed  her  head  under  a  wave  of  shame. 
This  man,  of  all  others,  had  shown  her  a  vision  of  her- 
self as  she  was.  It  seemed  that  she  could  never  lift 
her  eyes.  But  suddenly,  into  the  crying  of  the  wind, 
a  shot  broke  sharply;  then  another  and  another,  till 
the  sobbing  wail  was  lost  in  a  crackling  fusillade. 

The  girl  leaped  to  her  feet. 

"Raiders!"  she  gasped.  "Or  else- 
Paul  Van  Vreck  sprang  up  also,  his  face  paler,  his 
eyes  brighter  than  before. 

"They've  come  after  me,"  he  said.  "Clever 
trick — if  they've  bribed  ruffians  from  over  the  border 
to  cover  their  ends.  The  real  errand's  here,  inside 
this  house." 

Annesley 's  heart  faltered. 

"You  must  hide,"  she  breathed.  "I  must  save 
you — somehow." 

"Why  should  you  save  me?"  Van  Vreck  asked, 
sharply.  "Why  not  think  about  saving  yourself?" 

"Because  I  know  Knight  would  wish  to  save  you," 


THE  THREE  WORDS  353 

she  answered.  "I  want  to  do  what  he  would 
do.  .  .  .  God  help  us,  they're  coming  nearer! 
Take  your  bag,  and  I'll  hide  you  in  the  cellar. 
There's  a  corner  there,  behind  some  barrels.  If  they 
break  in,  I'll  say " 

"Brave  girl!     But  they  won't  break  in." 

"How  do  you  know?" 

"Your  husband  won't  let  them.  Trust  him,  as  I 
do." 

"He's  not  here.  Do  you  think  I  told  you  a  lie? 
Thank  Heaven  he  isn't  here,  or  they'd  kill  him,  and  I 

could  never  beg  him  to  forgive "     She  covered 

her  face  with  her  hands. 

The  old  man  looked  at  her  gravely. 

"You  don't  understand  what's  happening,"  he 
said,  with  a  new  gentleness.  "Don's  out  there  now, 
defending  you  and  his  home.  That's  what  the 
shooting  means.  Do  you  think  those  brutes  would 
advertise  themselves  with  their  guns  if  they  hadn't 
been  attacked?" 

With  a  cry  the  girl  rushed  to  the  long  window,  and 
began  to  unfasten  it,  but  Van  Vreck  caught  her  hands. 

"Stop!"  he  commanded.  "Don't  play  the  rob- 
bers' own  game  for  them!  How  do  you  know  which 
is  nearer  the  house,  Don  and  his  men,  or  the  others?" 

She  stared  at  him,  panting,  "Don  and  his  men?" 
she  echoed. 

"Yes.  Even  if  he  were  alone  to  begin  with,  I'll  bet 
all  I've  got  he  roused  every  cowpuncher  on  the  ranch 
with  his  first  shot;  and  they'd  be  out  with  their  guns 
like  a  streak  of  greased  lightning.  If  you  open  that 


354  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

window  with  a  light  in  the  room,  the  wrong  lot  may 
get  in  and  barricade  themselves  against  Don  and  his 
bunch — to  say  nothing  of  what  would  happen  to  us. 
But " 

Annesley  waited  for  no  more.  She  ran  to  the 
table  and  blew  out  the  flame  of  the  green-shaded 
lamp.  Black  darkness  shut  down  like  the  lid  of  a 
box.  But  she  knew  the  room  as  she  knew  her  own 
features.  Straight  and  unerring,  she  found  her  way 
back  to  the  window. 

This  time  Van  Vreck  stood  still  while  she  opened 
it  and  began  noiselessly  to  undo  the  outside  wooden 
shutters.  As  she  pushed  them  apart,  against  the 
wind,  a  spray  of  sand  dashed  into  her  face  and  Van 
Vreck's,  stinging  their  eyelids.  But  disregarding  the 
pain,  the  two  passed  out  into  the  night. 

Clouds  of  blowing  sand  hid  the  stars,  yet  there  was 
a  faint  glimmer  of  light  which  showed  moving  figures 
on  horseback.  Men  were  shouting,  and  with  the 
bark  of  their  guns  fire  spouted. 

Annesley  rushed  on  to  the  veranda,  but  Van  Vreck 
caught  her  dress. 

"Stay  where  you  are!"  he  ordered.  "Our  side  is 
winning.  Don't  you  see — don't  you  hear — the 
fight's  going  farther  away?  That  means  the  raid's 
failed — the  skunks  have  got  the  worst  of  it.  They're 
trying  to  get  back  to  the  river  and  across  to  their 
own  country.  There'll  be  some,  I  bet,  who'll  never 
see  Mexico  again ! " 

"  But  Knight "  the  girl  faltered.  "  He  may  be 

shot " 


THE  THREE  WORDS  355 

"He  may.  We've  got  to  take  the  chances  and 
hope  for  the  best.  He  wouldn't  leave  the  chase  now 
if  every  door  and  window  were  open  and  lit  for  him. 
Wait.  Watch.  That's  the  only  thing  to  do." 

She  yielded  to  the  detaining  hand.  All  strength 
had  gone  out  of  her.  She  staggered  a  little,  and  fell 
back  against  Van  Vreck's  shoulder.  He  held  her  up 
strongly,  as  though  he  had  been  a  young  man. 

"  How  can  I  live  through  it?  "  she  moaned. 

"You  care  for  him  after  all,  then?"  she  heard  the 
calm  voice  asking  in  her  ear.  And  she  heard  her  own 
voice  answer:  "I  love  him  more  than  ever."  She 
knew  that  it  was  true,  true  in  spite  of  everything, 
and  that  she  had  never  ceased  to  love  him.  It 
would  be  joy  to  give  her  lif  e  to  save  Knight's,  with 
just  one  moment  of  breath  to  tell  him  that  his  atone* 
ment  had  not  been  vain. 

Away  out  of  sight  the  chase  went,  but  the  watching 
eyes  had  time  to  see  that  not  all  the  figures  were  on 
horseback.  Some  ran  on  foot;  and  some  horses 
were  riderless.  As  Van  Vreck  had  said,  there  was 
nothing  for  him  and  for  Annesley  to  do  except  to  wait. 
They  stood  silent  in  the  rain  of  sand,  listening  when 
there  was  nothing  more  to  see.  The  shots  were 
scattered  and  blurred  by  distance.  Annesley  real- 
ized how  a  heart  may  stop  beating  in  the  anguish  of 
suspense. 

But  at  last  when  the  fierce  wind,  purring  like  a 
tiger,  was  the  only  sound  in  the  night,  there  came  a 
sudden  padding  of  feet.  A  form  stumbled  up  the 


356  THE  SECOND  LATCHKEY 

veranda  steps,  and  before  she  could  cry  out  in  her 
surprise,  the  girl  recognized  their  Chinese  servant. 

She  had  fancied  him  in  bed.  But  she  might  have 
known  he  would  be  out! 

He  had  been  running  so  fast  that  his  breath  came 
chokingly. 

"What  is  it?"  Annesley  implored. 

The  boy  pointed,  trying  to  speak,  "Bling  Mist* 
Donal  back,"  he  gulped.  " Me  come  tell." 

Annesley  pushed  past  him,  and  springing  down  the 
steps  ran  blindly  through  the  sand  cloud,  taking  the 
way  by  which  the  Chinese  boy  must  have  come  home. 
Her  mind  pictured  a  procession  carrying  a  dead  man, 
or  one  grievously  wounded;  but  at  the  cactus  hedge 
she  came  upon  three  men — one  in  the  centre,  who 
limped,  two  who  supported  him  on  either  side. 

"Why,  Anita!"  exclaimed  her  husband's  voice. 

"Knight!"  she  sobbed.  It  was  the  first  time  since 
Easter  a  year  ago  that  she  had  given  him  the  old  name. 

"  Thank  God  you're  alive ! " 

"If  you  thank  Him,  so  do  I,"  he  answered,  whether 
lightly  or  gravely  she  could  not  tell.  His  tone  was 
controlled,  as  if  to  hide  pain.  "It's  all  right.  You 
mustn't  worry  any  more.  Wish  I  could  have  sent 
you  news  sooner.  I  hoped  you'd  guess  we  were 
getting  the  upper  hand  when  the  shots  died  away. 
Coming  home  I  spotted  the  sneaks  fording  the  river. 
I  turned  the  car,  and  stirred  up  the  boys.  Then  we 
had  a  shindy,  and  scared  the  dogs  cold — bagged  a 
few,  but  I  guess  nobody  croaked — anyhow,  none  of 
our  crowd.  Half  a  dozen  are  after  the  curs. 


THE  THREE  WORDS  357 

"As  for  me,  I  feel  as  if  I'd  got  a  dum-dum  in  my 
ankle,  but  I'll  be  fit  as  a  fiddle  in  a  week  or  two. 
I'm  afraid  you  had  a  fright." 

How  strange  it  was  to  hear  him  speak  so  coolly 
after  what  she  had  endured!  But  his  calmness 
quieted  her. 

"Mr.  Van  Vreck  was  with  me,"  she  said. 

"Van  Vreck!  Great  Scott,  then  the  raid  was  a 
frameup!  I  see.  Boys,  let's  get  along  to  the  house 
quick." 

"  Wait  an  instant ! "  the  girl  intervened.  "  Knight, 
I  never  had  a  chance  to  tell  you — about  the  cactus 
blossoms.  I  understood.  I  understand  even  better 
now.  Mr.  Van  Vreck  has  made  me  understand. 
That  is  all  I  can  tell  you.  Let  them  help  you  to  the 
house.  I'll  follow.  Some  other  time  I'll  explain." 

"  No — now ! "  he  said.  "  Let  go  a  minute,  boys.  I 
can  stand  by  myself.  Three  words  with  my  wife." 

As  the  two  men  moved  off  hastily,  Annesley  sprang 
forward,  giving  her  shoulder  for  her  husband's  sup- 
port. 

"Lean  on  me,"  she  said.  "Oh,  Knight,  you  don't 
need  an  explanation,  for  the  three  words  are,  love — 
love  and  forgiveness.  Forgiveness  from  you  to  me. " 

He  held  out  his  arms,  and  caught  her  to  him 
fiercely.  Neither  could  speak.  The  past  was  for- 
gotten. Only  the  present  and  future  counted.  Both 
the  man  and  woman  had  atoned. 


THE   END 


A     000128234    2 


